Anne and Henry Make a Deal
by JD'sDreams
Summary: On the grounds of false charges, Anne is locked up in the Tower of London, her only way out being to agree to a divorce with Henry. But can the two truly let go of each other? What will it mean for them in the end?
1. The Tower of London

**THE TOWER OF LONDON**

Anne brought the nicely-woven blanket around her shoulders and shook her head indignantly as Nan knelt before her with a silver tray of tea and bread. She was too cold to eat, and far too uncomfortable amongst her surroundings. The chamber was damp and dim. Nowhere near fit for a Queen.

A Queen who was innocent against all charges falsely put upon her.

"Madam, please. You must eat. You haven't eaten since we arrived," Nan pleaded, making a secondary attempt to feed her queen.

But Anne was resistant. She moved away, giving an exasperated sigh. She couldn't eat right now. Her stomach lurched as she replayed earlier events in her head.

She has been strolling with her dear Elizabeth in the Royal Garden, scrutinizing every poppy, rose, tulip, and orchid that they could find. Just as Elizabeth plucked a daisy from the grass and handed it to her mother, Anne had been approached by a group of older men.

She recognized them as guards from the imprisoning enforcement. What could they possibly want with the Queen of England?

_Queen Anne of England, _one of them, the tallest with a grim expression and deep voice said,_ By order of his Majesty, you are under arrest._

_On what charges?_ Anne asked, huddling Elizabeth to her waist. Was this some kind of joke?

_You have been charged with treason, infidelity, and there are numerous accusations that you are a witch_, the man explained.

Poor Elizabeth shrieked in terror and confusion as her mother was forced into a large wagon and taken away to the Tower of London, where people, scum like Wolsey, belonged.

Her shrieks still reverberated through the walls of Anne's heart and she shuddered, goose bumps rising on her ivory skin.

How could Henry betray her so egregiously? She had been his most loyal companion especially as his wife. How dare he bring about such turmoil by stirring up disgusting lies about her?

Anger rose and burned in Anne's chest as she thought about her husband. That cold bastard. The level of pain he brought her, his treachery, his cruelty, Anne could never forgive him for that. The truth of the matter was that **Henry** had been the one committing infidelity. With Lady Eleanor, Jane Seymour, and all the other whores that were undisclosed to her.

A small sob escaped Anne's throat as she came to recognize the gravity of her situation. Upon Henry's authority, she could be stripped of everything. Her title as Queen of England, the Marquess of Pembroke, and all her riches she received through it. And her dear Elizabeth! Henry would tear the two apart, stopping at nothing to rid of her.

What would Henry do with Elizabeth? Would he cast their child away? He could do away with Elizabeth as easily as he could do away with Anne. She would lose everything, especially what mattered most to her.

Bringing the blanket closer around her shoulders, Anne shivered again, having difficulty swallowing the absolution of her helplessness. Last night, she slept tranquilly, safe beneath the blankets that were wrapped around her, like a cocoon. The warm fire crackled rhythmically, setting such a lethargic atmosphere.

Tonight, Anne was to sleep on a lumpy, far less settling bed accompanied by a soft blanket. The room oddly reeked from an undeterminable source. The cold was irritating, and it hardened Anne's nose lips, and ears. The only heat source was two torches placed on the north stone wall, in which Nan took refuge in.

Nobody could possibly stomach the idea of food during such a time of dire strife.

As Anne reclined to the bed, she placed the image of Lizzie in her head. Her endearing smiles, her uplifting laughs, and the sound of her calling her mother's name.

Anne decided that Elizabeth would be her only fight. She was all that she would fight for. Not Henry's love, not her title as the queen of England. Just Elizabeth. She'd plead and prove her innocence to ensure that no matter what happened to her, Elizabeth would be alright. Little Lizzie's laughs brought her into somnolence at last.

END OF CHAPTER ONE


	2. Elizabeth in Distress

Henry warily rubbed his forehead as a wailing Elizabeth came before him. He ordered his loyal subjects to leave the courtroom with a single hand movement. He watched as Elizabeth rushed to him, hot tears running down her pale cheeks, ceaselessly. Her tiny arms were outstretched towards him as if she had the entire thing calculated.

"Papa…"she cried out to Henry, the sadness and hurt on her small face agonizingly evident.

Elizabeth Tudor was the three year-old princess of England and had been trained since she could speak to conduct herself so. Henry's daughter took liberties, such as roaming the castle unsupervised as if she had been doing so her entire life. It was unruly and Henry knew that Elizabeth acted this way because Anne had allowed it. She defied the principles of the upbringing of a child under royal bloodline. Henry didn't know if it was because Anne herself had not been taught the ways of royalty as a small child or because she fed off the thrill of enraging him.

But it was of little importance now. All Henry could think about was quelling his dear Lizzie's sorrows.

He bent down from his chair and placed his hands on her little waist, lifting her into his strong arms.

"There, there," Henry softly stroked Elizabeth's golden-red curls, the silky strands slipping through the spaces between his fingers effortlessly, "Don't cry, my sweet."

The women who were commissioned to care for Elizabeth during her stay at Tudor Castle came bustling down the marble-encrusted hall, their shrill pants echoing through the walls.

One of them did not hesitate before curtsying and explaining their predicament.

"Your Majesty, forgive us," she spoke, almost terrified, "For a moment, she was in our sights, and then she abruptly ran off. We beg that you forgive us for being so-"

Henry shushed the women, flashing them an intimidating glare, dismissing them. "Leave me and my daughter be. Now."

The women curtsied and obediently scurried away, understanding that the King was not one to be taken as a joke.

Elizabeth still sobbed, her soft saintly face burrowing deeper into the crook of her father's neck. She wrapped her arms tighter around him as if her life depended on it.

"Why do you mourn, Lizzie?" Henry asked, tenderly, as he continued to pet her hair, "Tell me, so I can make it all better."

"Where's Mummy?" Elizabeth candidly asked, almost with a demanding demeanor, "She got taken by those guards. I saw them take her, Papa. I saw them."

Henry's expression altered as his daughter expressed her concern for Anne's whereabouts. But he kissed her nose and thumbed her tears away, saying, "Shh…Mummy had to go away for a little while, Lizzie. You may not see her for a very, very long time."

True, he had sent those men to find her, arrest her, and have her imprisoned. But he had not known that Elizabeth was with her mother at the moment. He thought that she would be in her room or somewhere safe and oblivious to her mother's arrest. This was most impromptu.

"But…why?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes reddened with afflictions and confusion, making her blue-green orbs stand out, "I want Mummy….I want Mummy to come back right now. I'm scared because she's gone, Papa. They took her."

"No," Henry hugged his daughter's trembling body to his, "No, Lizzie. I promise YOU will always be safe with me. You have nothing to fear. Mummy will be gone for a long time. I cannot determine if and when she'll come back. But you have my word that I will always protect you from harm." Henry had hoped that those words would ease Elizabeth's nerves, but if only made the three year-old further her interrogation.

"Where did she go? Why did she leave?" The tears at last ceased to flow, and now, Elizabeth's curious eyes were peering into Henry's stressed and weary ones.

How could he explain to a three year-old his choice? I desperately need a son and your mother has proven to me that she cannot provide me with one. Her failure to keep her promise has put her life in imminent danger. In order to escape our doomed marriage, I must have her killed in order to marry Jane. She, in turn, will bear me healthy sons. How would that sound to a three year-old? His daughter was far too young to see beyond her mother's sudden disappearance.

The entire thing sounded like cruelty, but sincerely, it wasn't. Henry needed to produce a legitimate heir to the throne in the form of a male. His impatience with Anne and his increasing interests in Jane provoked him to get rid of her. In reality, Henry was looking out for his country. He was the king of England. This was his duty. Anne could never understand, and Elizabeth wouldn't, either.

END OF CHAPTER TWO


	3. Interrogation

It thunder stormed for the third day in a perfect row. It seemed that the storm would never let up. Anne sat in the dim chamber on her bed, battling memories. The thunder storms seemed to be haunting her.

It thunder stormed on the night Elizabeth was conceived. And she had been conceived out of wild, fleeting passion. Anne shut her eyes tight, trying to block the memories, but her cheeks flushed as she recalled to mind, how she relinquished herself to Henry that night. Everything about that night in France was….beautiful.

A gentle tear slowly rolled down Anne's cheek as she felt the pain of emotional betrayal. Henry was supposed to be a loving husband. He was supposed to love her and respect her and care for her. Not condemn her to a practical dungeon on false charges. She had no say in her fate and just because Henry was the King of England did not give him the sole right to do away with her like this. It was so unfair. Another tear left Anne's eye and she hastily wiped it away, but not before Nan noticed it.

She stood up from her cot and strode over to her queen and dear friend, grasping her hand in a comforting manner.

"It will be alright, Majesty. I believe you are innocent, my lady, I truly do. The truth will come out in due time. It always does." Nan offered a reassuring smile, but Anne shook her head and bit her lip, trembling as her eyes watered again.

"Will it? It is obvious that the men don't believe me. They are relentless with their interrogations. They continue to question me, trying to force a false truth out of me. I don't…  
Anne gasped in distress, "I don't even know why Henry is doing this to me. He hasn't consulted me on these disgusting charges. Never uttered a single word."

Before Anne could continue, the wooden door yanked open, making a disquieting shriek against the abrasive concrete floor. The three men, Anne's interrogators who had been questioning her since her arrival, three days ago, walked in, the ends of their capes brushing against the dusty floor. Nan stood up and respectfully bowed before them.

Anne did not. She wiped her face and her expression altered as she stiffened. She was still the queen of England. She refused to submit to the oafs who added stress to her already troubled life. Exhaling an exasperated sigh, she prepared herself for their snide onslaught of accusations. She would have to plead her innocence for the fourth time.

They wanted to break her by harrowing her with threats and allegations. When would the men finally conclude that she was innocent?

The first man named Jules Brandt, a bold dapper, spoke in a cold tone.

"Queen Anne Boleyn of England, you know that you are here under his Majesty's orders. You, in fact, know him best. I advise that you use the knowledge that you behold of your husband and King to be honest."

"His Majesty accuses me of the most hurtful crimes," Anne persisted, "I _know_, as do God, that I am innocent of those crimes. I have been his Majesty's most humble servant."

As she said those words, an unwanted and uninvited memory struck Anne with violent force.

It happened several years ago, when Henry found initial interests with Anne. His heavy infatuation and blooming youth made him spellbound to her tempting beauty, her sparkling intelligence, and the outstanding ways in which she carried herself. Anne had entered his life most unexpectedly, like a ray of light in bleak darkness. And Henry had welcomed it. Anne remembered when she was at his court and Henry pursued her, regardless of his then-wife, Katherine's presence. He made his passion for Anne known. _**Your most humble servant**_, Henry told her as he reached into his vest and placed an extraordinary piece of jewelry covered by soft navy-blue silk in her hands. He then caressed her neck, the tips of his fingers warm, and relaxing, almost magical. _**Your neck**_, Henry had told her, in a low, lulling voice, _**I love your neck**_. It sent chills down Anne's spine, causing her to quiver as the very King of England spoke to her in such a way. Henry made the world disappear in that brief moment, and nothing could penetrate the force between them. That moment confirmed that she was his and his alone. If only things remained that way.

"His Majesty accuses you of sharing the beds of Sir Thomas Wyatt, Mark Smeaton, and your very brother, _George Boleyn_," the second man recited, eyeing Anne as if she were a grotesque creature of some kind. His name was Harold Samson. A man Anne had seen before at Henry's court. "All three of these men are to be executed upon your doings!"

"But I never visited _**ANY**_ of their bedchambers!" Anne cried out, frantically, "Certainly not my own brothers'!" She shut her eyes as the pain continued to batter and trash her. Three people of high importance to her were to be killed over something that never occurred.

"And never once did you conspire against his Majesty?" the third man, who's identity was anonymous, asked. He raised an eyebrow to exhibit that he did not trust her.

Fiery tears shot out from Anne's eyes. "I have come to love his Majesty more than I love my own flesh," she spoke with unmistakable truth, "My heart aches invariably because he believes that I could ever commit something so vile, so traitorous. Do you understand?" Anne's blue eyes were the sole representations of her woes, "I love him. I **love** him…"

The room fell into silence as everyone gave the Queen of England a moment to recollect herself.

After Anne had wiped her tears, Brandt resumed his accusations.

"You say one thing, but it can mean something entirely different." He began to twirl with the ends of his shaggy grey beard, suspiciously eyeing Anne.

Despite her present hurt, Anne wanted to claw his eyes out.

"Perhaps her Majesty is telling the truth," the unidentified man interceded, "Maybe his Majesty is mistaken."

Nan looked to Anne with a hopeful expression on her face, but Anne never met her glance. Her focus remained on the triple entente of interrogators.

"You're siding with that harlot?" Samson asked, his glaring eyes full of disdain, "She charms you with her beauty. Such beauty is poisonous."

"Grant me an audience with his Majesty," Anne pleaded, giving his insult no thought, "I beseech you. Please."

She desperately needed to see Henry. All this was making minute sense. She needed to know the meaning behind this. Henry had already been sharing Jane Seymour's bed. And doing so brought tidal waves of agony to Anne's soul. It had been the worst torture Anne believed she would ever feel, her husband making love to others. As if that wasn't satisfying enough, Henry was not falsely accusing her of infidelity, treason, and of witchcraft. Did he wish to cause her more brutal stress?

"We will deliver your request, Madam," the unidentified man, who seemed to be taking Anne's side, confirmed, "You will remain in the Tower of London until further notice."

The slam of the door echoed off the walls and made Anne jerk.

Nan rushed to her Queen's side and consoled her as she fell to her knees, sobbing. Anne didn't know how much longer she'd survive.

END OF CHAPTER THREE


	4. A Shared MemoryElizabeth is Sick

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for taking so long in uploading this chapter. I've been dealing with some heavy shit, so, bear with me, mates. Enjoy! Review, please. Steamy chapters coming up ;)**

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Henry sat across from Charles and smugly swiped his pawn across the chess board, eliciting a groan from Charles as he captured his rook.

Raising an eyebrow, Charles hopelessly slid his queen two spaces ahead.

He was losing. Already, Henry had captured several pawns, both of his knights, and a rook. Shaking his head with surrender, Charles opened his mouth to speak.

"You already know that I lost, Henry. We might as well end this game," he grinned, "I don't see why you're wasting time playing chess with me when you could be ravishing Lady Jane."

"Hmm," Henry smirked, capturing Charles' queen, "You know that all hope is lost when the KING is in check. And since your king is safe…the game will continue. And besides, Jane's incapacitated. She left to visit her brothers on the other side of England. I advised against it, but you know women. Stubborn."

"Speaking of which," Charles said, abandoning the game, "How is your wife?"

Henry's entire expression darkened as he thought of Anne.

"Uncooperative," he said, snidely, rubbing his temple to ease himself, "She's smart. She knows I'm trying to get rid of her, so she's denying everything."

Why wouldn't she? Henry had predicted that this would happen.

"Perhaps a trial," Charles suggested, "Would be the answer to your problems. And false evidence to support your accusations."

"Perhaps…" Henry nodded, though his thoughts betrayed him. He didn't want a trial to be held. Investigations would complicate….everything. "She's susceptible to persuasion."

Charles sighed with frustration, "Henry, there's no way Anne would agree to a divorce. You and I know that in out hearts. Why are you being so hesitant?"

"I'm not being hesitant, Charles," Henry said, in a menacing tone, "The bitch has always complicated things."

Henry decided that he wasn't in the mood for chess anymore, either.

"You once loved her so much, you transformed all of England to be with her. She was all you ever thought about," Charles reminded him.

"Well that love has dwindled," Henry insisted, "Anne has failed to keep her promise of delivering me a son and in turn, I have to seek out a new wife."

"Do you love Jane?" Charles inquired.

Something simply wasn't correct about His Majesty's actions. He acted so oddly towards this matter. Why not have her killed and free himself from the marriage? Why not have a trial? Why, was what mattered to Charles at the moment.

Henry did not reply. Instead, he turned his head to the barred window across from the two.

"It has stormed for three days perpetually," he admonished, leaving his surroundings to oblivion. A gentle smile curved on his lips as his mind fled to the night his dear Lizzie was conceived.

Everything about that night was perfection. It was beautiful. Henry could still remember every bit of contact, every kiss, every passion-fueled emotion he felt that night with Anne.

He had been admiring a marvelous painting mounted on the stone wall of the King of Francis' castle, noticing the patience in the strokes and the different shades at every contour.

_**Henry**_, Anne had called him into the room. No candles had been lit. Just a mild fire in the fireplace. But the curtains on the large wondrous window had been drawn, inviting the effulgent moonlight to illuminate the room. Rain pitter-pattered on the balcony, thunder roaring as the clouds were split by lightning.

Anne had been laying on the grand bed, devoid of clothing. Her alabaster body glowed in the moonlight. Henry's ice-blue eyes ran across her beauteous, naked glory. There was a fire in her azure eyes as she stared at her king. Without words, Anne welcomed him to join her.

Henry's jaw had been agape, for the moment was too magical to be reality. He strode across the marble floor, dropping his dark fur robe to the ground.

**_Now, my love. Let me conceive. And you will have a son_**, Anne spoke, reaching her hand out to Henry's. He took it tenderly, his eyes fixed on hers, and planted a soft kiss on it. He fell victim to her heavenly caress and while the thunder roared on all night, they made ruthless, yet beautiful love.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

A voice pulled Henry from his passionate reverie. He looked away from the window and saw one of his physicians rushing towards him.

"I have grave news, your Majesty," the physician spoke frantically.

"What is it?" Henry demanded.

His expression most terrified, the physician explained, "Your Majesty. Your daughter is fatally ill."

"Which daughter!" Henry asked, now fully alarmed.

"Princess Elizabeth, your Majesty. She has caught a bad fever that I fear may develop into something worse."

The sound of Lizzie's name brought great pain to Henry's heart.

Her room had very few candles lit, making it bearably dim. Soothing, lethargic music filled the air. A priest had been by the bed. Little Lizzie laid in the center of the room, tucked beneath her titanic green bed.

Tears rushed to Henry's eyes when he saw his frail daughter in the bed. Her eyes were shut and sweat trickled from her red brows. She was an unmistakable resemblance of her mother when she slept. Henry hadn't noticed before. Her pale skin appeared like ivory, almost like a glowing angel, much like Anne, but Elizabeth's cheeks were so flushed. From the fever.

Bending down by her side, Henry placed his hand upon her scalding cheek.

"Will she survive it?" Henry demanded.

The physician looked dismayed. "It is unlikely, your Majesty. Her vital signs are weak. She is bound to get worse. Only time will tell."

Shaking his head with disbelief, Henry felt the horrible pang of heartbreak as he watched his daughter.

"Oh, Lizzie," he quietly sobbed, "Why did it have to be you? So much like your mother, Lizzie. So much like her."

He leaned over to kiss his daughter's forehead, and desperately prayed for her survival. If Elizabeth died, God forbid, his dear little Lizzie….Henry wouldn't survive it. He had already lost one child. Another would be unbearable.

Laying his head on her stomach, Henry listened to Elizabeth's shallow heartbeats. Her heavy breathing indicated that she was in deep sleep. Or so he thought.

Little tiny fingers softly tugged at Henry's hair.

"Papa…."

Henry jumped up at the sound of his daughter's voice.

"Lizzie? Oh, Lizzie," glee rushed through the arteries of Henry's hear when he saw Elizabeth's aqua eyes looking up at him, "My Lizzie," he cried, kissing her forehead several times.

"Papa, I'm so hot," Elizabeth groaned, "I'm so hot, Papa."

"I know, Lizzie. You're sick, my sweet. You're weak. Continue resting, darling."

But Elizabeth was as stubborn as her mother. She used her miniature neck to raise her head to look about the room. Something was missing.

"W-where's Mummy?" she asked, her voice brittle, tears already falling down her ruddy cheeks.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Henry sighed, stroking her soft hair, "I explained this to you already. Mummy's not coming back. You are never going to see her again, remember?"

The three year-old burst into a fit of tears, her tiny body trembling beneath the blanket. "No…." Elizabeth cried, "Papa, Mummy died?"

Henry ran his hand through his hair. This was too much for him to handle right now. First his daughter was in frail health, and now she believed that Anne was dead. Perhaps it was best that she thought so.

"Please rest, my darling. And when you wake, Papa will be here."

Henry left the room and dazedly made way for his bedchambers. In time, he hoped, Elizabeth would accept that she'd never see her mother again. That Jane was to be the new Queen of England. She'd forget Anne when she turned older and would only remember Jane as "Mummy".

It frustrated Henry that when he saw Elizabeth, he saw so much of Anne. The resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same laugh, the same cry. Elizabeth's face was soft and angelic, and it conformed to his touch the same way Anne's did. And when Elizabeth became frustrated, a small line formed between her eyebrows just like Anne's.

The more Henry thought about Anne, the more he slowly realized that he wanted to see her. He had not laid eyes on her in what seemed like decades.

She embodied so many things, it was almost impossible to escape her presence.

In true honesty, there were things that Henry secretly regretted about her absence.

Despite the many times Jane had slept in his bed, the smell of Anne still lingered on his sheets, his pillows. Henry remembered how after they'd made love, Anne would find the perfect spot on his chest to rest on, her everlasting brunette cascade blanketing his entire torso.

They'd kiss until sleep engorged them entirely and then by the middle to the night, they'd wake and resume their lovemaking until morning.

Yes, Henry realized just how much he missed that. He decided that he wanted to see Anne once more. But he needed a reason.

"Your Majesty," someone from behind him called.

Henry paused in his footsteps and turned around to face the person. It was Mavis, his personal messenger.

"Ah, Mavis," he smiled, walking over to him, "Tell me you have splendid news. Has my wife given in, yet?"

"W-well," Mavis nervously chuckled, "Y-your Majesty, Queen Anne is most persistent. She continues to deny your accusations. She simply refuses to crack. Brandt heavily suggests that you take this investigation a step further. Perhaps to a trial?"

Henry did not reply. He glared at Mavis as if he were an idiot.

"A-also," Mavis swallowed, "Her Majesty has requested an audience with your Majesty. I believe she wants to personally plead her innocence. Brandt wishes to know where you stand on the matter."

Oh, perfect. Like an answer to his prayers, Anne wanted to see him in private. He didn't even have to concoct a reason to see her. He would visit her in the Tower of London. Or more preferably, have her come to him. Henry could then persuade Anne to agree to a divorce.

"Tell her Majesty that she will have her audience with me next week, here at Tudor House. Until then, continue interrogating her, "Henry commanded.

"Of course, your Majesty," Mavis bowed and backed away.

As Henry entered his bedchambers, he felt a tiny, almost unnoticeable feeling on the inside. A familiar feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. And it was good feeling.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR


	5. An Audience Granted

The thick wooden door scraped across the grey gravel, making such a commotion, it woke Anne out of her sleep. She sat up, her hair loosely falling around her.

Her interrogators entered the room with grim expressions, the tiredness in their eyes terribly visible. They had torches in their hands.

Nan, who slept on the bed opposite Anne, stood up, wrapping the blanket around her broad shoulders.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, offended by the men's unannounced entrance, "Her Majesty was resting!"

Brandt ignored her and looked to Anne. "You had best get up, Madam. We are leaving for Tudor House tonight."

Anne yawned and made an effort to rub the sleep out of her eyes, but the news surprised her.

"Tonight?" she asked, groggily, "What do you mean, tonight?"

"His Majesty has granted you an audience and wishes to see you in less than a few days," Samson explained.

Some vague sense of hope brewed in Anne's heart as she learned that she would see her husband within a week. She was unsure of how to react, though, remembering that Henry could be so unpredictable. He reasons for agreeing to see her could be entirely cruel.

"For travel and distance's sake," Samson continued, "We are leaving London tonight to reach his Majesty within a few days."

"So get dressed, Madam," the unidentified man said, "We will give you a few moments."

The trio left the room in a breeze, shutting the thick door behind them. Without the extra lighting, the room darkened, the torch on the wall minutely illuminating the chamber.

Nan looked to her Queen and rushed to her side.

"Majesty," she inquired, softly, "What shall you do with his Majesty when you see him?" She was truly curious as to what her queen had in mind. She had seemed so hopeless.

Anne felt a wave of sadness soak her. "Oh, Nan," she shook her head, "I don't know. I don't know, Nanette. I don't know, anymore. I don't…" Anne caught her breath as several emotional blows hit her. She could feel the tears eager to burst from her eyes.

Nan drew her arms around her queen's trembling body, saying, "It's okay, my lady. It's alright. Come. Let us dress."

Nan helped her into her red dress with the beautiful gold lace and brushed her flowing, dark hair until it shined. She then rouged her queen's porcelain cheeks, and darkened her lips to make her look more majestic, like the true delicacy she was. It hurt Nan to see her so broken and hopeless. And it angered her to know that his Majesty was purposefully inflicting this pain upon her.

As Nan finished preparing herself for the journey, one of the men banged boisterously on the door.

"Are you ready, Madam?"

"Yes," Anne replied, letting air pass through her lips as she breathed deeply.

The fresh smell of wet grass filled the night air as Anne sat in the carriage besides Nan. The carriage bounced and toppled as it bumbled along the rocky path.

Soon, the Tower of London was but a speck among the trees and Anne began recognize the more local areas of London. But the vacant streets were evidence of the late hours at which they were traveling.

When they finally happened upon Tudor House, days later, Anne could feel both the comforts of being so close to home, yet fear that Henry would cast her away. He had brought her up, hadn't he? What made her think he couldn't bring her right back down? She left the formidable Tower of London, only to come back to a foreboding home.

Guards dressed in royal uniform surrounded Anne and Nan when they exited the carriage. Her interrogators close by, they walked through the grand entrance of Tudor House, which made Anne feel uneasy. It had only been a month or so, since she was here.

There were times when she vacationed away from the place for much longer, but this was different, of course.

Anne was either facing her death, or a new life when she entered Henry's court. It would be her word against the King's. There was a slim chance of her proving her innocence if the entire thing went to trial. Queen Anne was not favored by many. Her enemies outnumbered her comrades. People already wanted her dead. Maybe today, they would get what they wanted.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE


	6. Anne and Henry Seal the Deal

"I trust you will speak wisely in my presence," Henry's voice displayed tentative pleasure as he walked in a circle around Anne, enabling himself a view of her at every possible angle.

When she entered his courtroom, that fire entered the room with her. That attractive essence that he missed was emanating from her, filling his room to completion. Henry could not suppress a grin when he saw Anne, wearing his favorite color- red. It had always looked remarkable against her fine porcelain skin. And the dress she wore brought back distracting erotic memories.

Nevertheless, he honored his word, ordering everyone to leave-including his guards. Henry wanted to ensure that whatever happened behind closed doors would remain between the two. He had no patience for rumors surrounding Anne's arrest or return. Everything would be handled as quietly as possible. He wanted his divorce and he would get it, no matter what it would take.

"Your life is currently in a very precious state. I would advise you to choose your words carefully. You are most fortunate that I haven't done away with you," Henry continued.

All her ambivalence dissipated when she stepped into Henry's atmosphere. She became familiarized with the courtroom she sat in so often, and the soft pleasant demeanor Henry once possessed. Anne was then reminded of the old him. This was a man she knew and came to love. Suddenly, there was no reason to be fearful, yet it did not excuse caution. And it did not excuse her predicament.

"I have come here to plead my innocence, Majesty," Anne spoke softly, though she had not been granted permission to plead yet. The heart beneath her chest was beating so loud, she struggled to process her thoughts. She could feel the heat of her husband's eyes on her body, and it began to readily cause stress.

"Anne…" Henry scoffed, "You and me both know from past experiences…you are anything _but_ innocent." He wanted to manipulate her. Make her vulnerable. Henry knew how prone Anne was to his advances.

"I beg that you neglect to bring our past into this situation, your Majesty," Anne retorted, never raising her eyes to his, for she knew to meet his gaze would be surrender.

She neglected to add, "And if I may recall, you are not innocent, either, your Majesty."

"Ha ha," Henry chortled, "May I remind you," he stepped in to inhale to the scent exuding from Anne's brunette cascade, "When we're alone, I'm just Henry." He grinned pleasantly as he watched Anne's cheeks betray her by flushing.

"Your _Majesty_," Anne could feel the anger boiling in the pit of her tummy, "I have come here to plead my innocence against the charges you so hatefully put against me, yet you jest with me. My brother and friend's _**lives**_ are at stake."

Henry played with his power. He thought his kingdom to be an expansive chessboard. He thought he could move whomever he pleased. Capture them and hold them captive for as long as he pleased. Anne refused to be a victim. Not now. Not after her months of sorrow.

"Oh, Anne, you needn't do that. I already know that the accusations are false, of course. They were _my_ charges."

Henry proudly smiled as he revealed to Anne that he conjured up those charges.

"But remember," he reminded her, "There were rumors of impurity already put against you. That you were Thomas Wyatt's whore, once. I didn't believe them, then. And if they were repeated, I wouldn't believe them now."

The most evil ingredients of contempt, disgust, abhorrence, and betrayal brewed in Anne's heart, and insurmountable anger filled her soul. Her blue eyes, now filled with hatred, shot up.

"Then why put me through this?" she asked, tears of anger swelling from her eyes. She wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face with a good slap. "How could you? _**Why**_?" Anne's lip trembled.

"Because," Henry replied, stopping in front of Anne to stare into her blue eyes, "I want a divorce," he said in one breath. No emotion. No regret.

**DIVORCE. **The word came at such a blunt force, Anne nearly staggered back and her eyes widened with shock. She grasped her chest and gasped, shaking her head slowly.

"No…" she was in denial, "No, Henry, what are you talking about?"

"You seem so surprised. How could you not suspect it? I want a new wife," Henry simply replied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "Because the one I have cannot bear me a son."

"But I promised you a son," Anne protested, now scared for her life, "Give me more time, the promise will be fulfilled. I would never go back on my word, Henry."

"_And_, I have feelings for Jane," Henry interjected, raising his eyebrow to catch her reaction.

There was a short period of silence between them before Anne asked, "And do you mean to marry her?"

Henry gave a single nod.

"You see, Anne. Things have to be this way. If I petitioned for a divorce before your arrest, it would be an everlasting resistance, would it not? But now, I've worn you down. Now you have reason to agree," Henry explained, placing his arms behind his back.

Of course. Henry wanted a new wife because she hadn't given him a son yet. And he chose Jane because she was his latest mistress. Demure, modest, reticent Jane Seymour. That whore. Anne should have had her banished from court the minute Henry laid his icy, blue, commanding eyes on her. Henry would have finished her off, though. Anne knew. She knew. Her insecurities would be the death of her, if not the love she beholds for her husband. Her cruel and traitorous husband.

"I hate you," Anne said, bitterly, "How dare you try and cast me away like you did Katherine?"

"Either way, I'm getting my divorce," Henry said, ignoring her reference to his first wife.

He left her for Anne. He left her because he loved Anne. It was _more _than his desire to ravish her, that he divorced Katherine, it was because he had fallen intensely in love with the seductive, mysterious Anne Boleyn.

"Well I refuse to sign a termination to our marriage," Anne spoke sternly. She was furious with Henry. He was such a sneaky bastard.

"Then the Pope shall decide if you live or die when we take these charges to trial," Henry spat, coldly, "You know he will turn a deaf ear to your pleads. Besides, who are they more likely to believe? Anne Boleyn? The whore who seduced the King of England and killed Katherine of Aragon? Or me, England's ruler and caretaker?"

"_You_ were the whore who seduced _me_, Henry. You took away my maidenhead," Anne shot at him, forcing herself to turn away from the memories of their fierce romp in the woods, or the night they conceived Elizabeth. Or all the other countless nights and days of passion they had.

"And you eagerly gave it to me," Henry shot back, "Neither one of us can deny it. The day in the woods, that day Wolsey took his life. Never once did you ask me to stop."

"You are being most cruel!" Anne shouted, her fists balled up, her knuckles ready to burst through her skin.

"Not as cruel as I should be, Anne," Henry replied calmly, "I must confess," he sighed softly, "I would prefer that you live. I would hate to shed blood so inessentially."

Anne sighed, confused and frustrated.

"I…." she looked down, "I don't understand you, Henry. One moment, you harshly remark that my life's fate will be decided by the Pope, and the next moment, you confess to wanting me to live. How _do_ you feel?"

"All I want is my divorce," Henry snapped, not wanting the subject of the moment to change. He walked over to the extensive wooden table where the men would sit and dwell on issues and picked up a document. "This is the termination to our marriage," he shoved it in Anne's face, "Sign it now, and you'll live. Otherwise, the Pope will be most proud to sentence you to death on the vulgarity of the allegations."

Henry was growing impatient.

She still couldn't see past her hurt. He was giving her the simplest way out, yet she continued to fight him. Did she _want_ to die?

"If, if I sign it," Anne began, swallowing, "Wh-what will happen to my Lizzie?"

Elizabeth's future was all she cared about. Even if she wouldn't be a part of it.

"She will stay here under my protection and care," Henry replied, glad that Anne was at last coming to her senses.

"No," Anne shook her head, "I want her future secured and safeguarded through betrothal. She's as fully entitled to England's throne as any son you may hope to have. And please promise me, Henry, that you won't defame me before her," she pleaded, "You may defame me before others, but not before Lizzie. I love her, and I've only ever loved her since the day she left my womb. While you and Charles and everyone else may hate me, you must love Elizabeth with every fiber of your being. She's _our_ creation. She's the _one_ good that stemmed from this nightmarish marriage. Respect that."

She had almost forgotten about those vulgar charges. Though George had betrayed her, and Thomas, an old flame, they were all innocent. Mark was her friend, not her whore.

"I want you to drop those heinous charges that you put against me. You know them to be untrue, and I would hate to leave here with 'adulterer, witch, and traitor' written across me. I don't deserve it. Neither do George, Thomas, or Mark."

"Agreed," Henry nodded, his nerves tense, "Just sign the paper." It was almost over.

A final tear rolled down her cheek as she took up the pen with a trembling hand, dipped it in ink, and wrote her name along the paper to confirm her agreement to the divorce.

This was it. Henry had won. He was no longer her husband, but her King. And she, his subject. It was all over.

Henry, his grin disappearing, turned the paper around to examine her signature. He always had a certain liking to her penmanship. It was in representation of her almost intangible grace. And a memory of when she signed her letters to him, the letters he once craved. Henry suppressed a sigh and placed the paper back on to the long wooden table.

Anne watched to see what he would do next. Her heart pounded incessantly and she couldn't tell if she would faint or upchuck.

"Are you not curious as to what shall happen to you?" Henry finally asked, admonishing the uneasiness in her.

She hadn't replied.

"You are to be removed from your position as Queen of England," Henry told her anyway, "I am to be recognized entirely as your superior. And soon, Jane Seymour will be your Queen."

Anne only nodded, and like a sponge, she absorbed all her torture and destruction.

"From this day forward, you are to be recognized solely as the Marquess of Pembroke. And for our sake, you will be banned from my court, banished from all of my houses and castles, and commissioned to London, where you will maintain your title as the Marquess. You will receive affluence from your position, and out of sympathy, I shall grant you a thousand pounds annually. You still own vast acres of land, and you will leave here as a highly wealthy woman."

"I don't _want_ wealth, Henry," Anne said, even though she lost all rights to address him by his first name, "I just want to be love and be loved. All I have ever done and sacrificed has been for you and Elizabeth."

"Regarding my daughter-"

"**_Our_** daughter, Henry," Anne corrected him, fearless of his wrath.

"Our daughter," Henry continued, "Contact between you and Elizabeth is forbidden. Withdrawal is already an issue for our daughter. If contact is allowed, it will prevent her having a relationship with Jane, henceforth, contact will be discontinued."

"You mean to make _Jane_ her new mother," Anne accused.

"No, just her guardian," Henry denied.

"Lizzie will never forget me, Henry. She's my daughter- she's **_our_ **daughter, how could you put her through this?"

Anne never knew that Elizabeth was already poisoned with the idea that her mother was dead. That she was going through great pain and cried for her mother every day. So all she could do was sulk at her perception of the pain that Elizabeth was thriving with. The three year old could only take so much.

"You no longer have a say in her care, Anne," Henry reminded her, "Seeing as you are no longer Queen of England."

Anne shivered at the reality of her situation.

"Farewell, you Majesty. Do not forget me and the love I bear you and our daughter, your Majesty."

She had wanted to say harsh words to him, but Anne thought it better to leave the castle on a calmer note. Would she ever get what she wanted?

The words of a scholar came to her mind as she turned away from Henry, her stomach burning with abnegation. _What one can give to you, they can take away from you_. She wished that she took those words to heart when she first heard them. Because they would haunt her forever and ever.

Henry watched the jewel he once possessed slowly walk away, her glorious red dress trailing behind her, her cascade glistening each the time the rays of light hit it. Somehow, a panic within him arose, and Henry found himself going after her.

He reached his arm out and grasping her hand so tight, that Anne cried out.

"Anne, wait," he said, urgently, the tone in his voice, concerning.

"What is it, Henry? What more of me do you wish to destroy?"

"Do not leave yet. Stay a moment. You must know, I shall miss you. I shall miss _this_."

Henry placed his hand on Anne's backside, brought her hardly against him, and crushed his lips to hers.

END OF CHAPTER SIX

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, mates. This chapter has taken quite a while to upload, and I'm sorry about that. So um, this chapter was in a way, rushed. I've been dealing with some extreme shit, lately. A family member got hospitalized, so I haven't had much time to work on the next chapter. It's a bit of a disappointment, mates, I've got to admit, I'm not really proud of this chapter. But whatever, it's posted so, I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter coming up soon. Keep on reeling in those reviews, I NEED them :D


	7. Lost in Paradise

Anne, her voice muffled by Henry's kiss, pressed her hands into his shoulders, trying to pull back.

How dare he take advantage of her like this? She angrily punched him in his chest, her knuckles aching against his hard muscles.

"Argh," Henry grunted, breaking this kiss.

His icy azure eyes, glowing with desire, subtly compelled her, sending almost unnoticeable chills down her spine. He had such an effect on her, it was cruel.

"How dare you kiss me?" Anne asked, wiping her mouth with a disgusted swipe.

But Henry ignored her words, closing the distance between them as he grasped her arm and brought her close once more, this time ensuring that she was pressed tightly against him. His one hand holding her arm, the other skimmed devilishly across her soft arse, teasingly squeezing.

"Un-unhand me," Anne hoarsely commanded as if she had any authority left.

She anxiously breathed as his intoxicating scent began to fill her nostrils. He began kissing her neck, her body stiffening up as his lips touched her skin. Henry knew that her neck was her vulnerability. He knew how she'd shudder and tremble at his touch. He pressed her tighter against him, though his kisses remained patient.

Anne, her eyes shutting at his mesmerizing touch, tried to separate herself from his influence.

_**No**_, she thought, and grabbed his wrist, trying pry his grasp from her arm, yet it was to no avail. She didn't have the strength.

Henry was absorbing it all as he continued to kiss her, draining her of any resistance possible. Anne hated herself for coming to terms with the fact that she wanted him. There would be no negotiation with Henry and his vigor. They were no longer married, after all. So what could she possibly lose?

_**I shouldn't be kissing her**_, Henry thought, surprising his self by questioning his own morals, _**It's time to move past Anne**_. Nonetheless he couldn't pull **back **as he began to kiss her firm, yet supple lips. **_Damn_**, Henry thought. She came into contradiction with his every move, his every thought, his every need. He perpetually changed his mind about how he felt about her. For a moment he wanted to manipulate her, but now he was kissing her glorious lips to make her stay awhile longer. Because Henry knew deep in his treacherous heart that he wasn't ready to let Anne go. Not just yet.

His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, treating her to a kiss she hadn't experienced in months.

His hand trailed from her arse to her porcelain face, caressing and gently raking her soft skin. Anne felt his grasp on her arm finally loosening and readily wrapped her arms around his neck, adding passion to the kiss.

She surrendered a moan as she recognized the arousing vigor in her king's lips. Her fingers entwining with his hair, Anne copied Henry's actions, her tongue exploring his mouth while her fingers spontaneously, yet eagerly yanked at his shirt.

"Take this off," she murmured amid the kiss. She yanked again, satisfied when Henry complied, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to the ground. Her hands magnetically drifted to his chest where she began to feel his muscles, his enticing flesh. Her thumbs ran over his finely-sculpted abdominals, quickly losing her self in the undeniable essence Henry possessed. She continued running her hands down his torso until she reached the brim of his bottoms, pausing briefly, to flash Henry a seductive grin. She ran her tongue delectably over her lips before seeking out the laces to his pants.

At the same time, Henry rushed to remove Anne's top, becoming frustrated with the newly admonished absurd amount of strings on her bodice. He pulled and tugged at the strings, which were entirely too tight, his muscles bulging. The harder he tried, the deeper the grooves and burns became on his fingers.

"Fucking strings," he grumbled, resolving to take her with her clothes on.

Anne (having much experience with Henry and his pants) swiftly unlaced his pants, and pulled them down his legs.

She was so eager to feel his hardness inside her, she couldn't contain herself. The desire to two possessed for each other would remain undying, no doubt. No matter how many years they had been together, every union had always felt like their first.

Henry grasped Anne's waist, lifting her up and carrying her to the court table where he and many delegates had discussed the annulment to the marriage of his first wife on countless occasions. He tried not to trip on his pants, still pooling at his feet as he laid her down on the cold wooden table, putting his hands beneath her gracious red dress where his fingertips met her warm thighs.

He began palming her inner thighs, teasingly, which upset Anne because she wanted him directly.

"No," she groaned, sitting up, "Not like that," she commanded, her eyebrows furrowing with impatience.

Before she could verbalize her needs, though, Henry silenced her by slamming his lips against hers just as abruptly as he did when she was leaving. She moaned instinctively, grasping his hair tightly and working to add fervency to the kiss. Their tongues clashing and battling, Anne barely noticed that Henry was inside of her until he began wildly thrusting.

"Oh God," she moaned, not regretting that she called His name under such terms.

The books and candle holders on the table began to slide north as her body slammed against the table. She locked her ankles around his waist, wanting to keep him inside of her. She held him tightly, her nails digging into his back as he moved in and out of her, sending shockwaves of pleasure though her body and into her very core where she began to lose her sanity.

This was how he made her feel.

Out of control, submissive to his every touch, and manipulative, like wet clay.

It suddenly hit her. This was Henry scheming again. This was him using her, abusing her rights, treating her like the rest of his whores. After all, they were no longer married, right? What would he do with her when his seduction was complete? He'd send her on her way and never speak of her again as if the grand passion they once had never existed.

The desire drained from her and now there was just a cold object between her legs. The pleasure became one-sided. Yet, Henry continued thrusting, not even noticing that Anne's attitude changed entirely against him.

Anne, now becoming angry, wanted it all to end.

"Henry, stop," she said, "Stop it now!" she pushed Henry away, receiving a very angry roar from him.

She shook her head, "We can't do this, anymore," she spoke, not even bothering to ensure that he was paying attention to her, "It has to completely end. And it can't end like this, Henry. Because we're only going to want more of each other and then I will never be free of you. And that would be cruel, Henry…"

Angry, burning, hot tears rolled down her cheeks and Anne gave out an agitated groan.

These were the reasons she could not continue on with Henry. Because when they made love, it always created a level of serenity in her mind and it would have led to her believing that maybe Henry would actually tear up the divorce paper and contently remain with her until death. And she would be all wrong. That was an agony she refused to allow herself to be subjected to.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, disgusted with the fact that she cried so much.

Henry pulled his pants back up, his ire quelled by the all-too familiar sound of her sobs.

He ran a hand through his hair, and looked at Anne, bewildered.

"Why did you stop me?" he asked, making it obvious that he hadn't paid a single dose of attention to her words, "I thought it was made quite clear that you wanted to be with me."

Anne buried her face in her hands and shook her head in exasperation.

"I still do, Henry!" she yelled, "And I hate you for that!"

She aimlessly threw furious punches in the air.

"But I can't be with you! The more my love for you grows, the more hurt I bring upon myself and it's not fair. You….you feel nothing and I feel _everything_. I can't be with you seeing as we're no longer married."

"You've been with me before when we weren't married," Henry said.

"But this isn't the past, Henry," Anne said, pulling her dress down and standing up, "This is the future that I've just decided on. My future must consist of gladness and tranquility and in order for it to be that way, it must not involve you."

She tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears, and kept her distance from Henry, knowing that a single touch could send her twelve steps back.

"I'm not just any woman that you can throw away and take back at any moment, Henry," Anne said, resolutely, "It doesn't matter if you're the King of England. There is no power great enough to make me…trust you ever again…."

"You're right…" Henry admitted quietly, not wanting her to hear him. She was right about everything. And as far as he was concerned, she always had been. He had tampered and tugged at her heart and now it was weathered and worn. He could do nothing, realizing that Anne probably would never forgive him and if that was the case, he would never forgive himself. Even though he thought these things, he couldn't voice them. And he didn't know why.

Anne turned her back to him and finally began to leave.

At last, no more surprises for the day. She could take no more unexpected happenings. This would be the final straw. Anne felt confident in her self and held her head high as she continued her way to the door. However, just as she had began to grow content with her decision, the tall wooden door suddenly burst open and in walked Lady Bryan with Anne's beautiful, graceful, darling Elizabeth.

"Mama!" Elizabeth cried out excitedly, immediately recognizing Anne, the woman she cried for on countless occasions. She ran away from Lady Bryan, her little feet carrying her to her mother, bowing before her first before hugging her. She had not yet learned of the removal of her mother's title as Queen of England.

"Elizabeth!" Anne smiled, getting down on her knees to meet her daughter's embrace, "Oh my princess. My own heart," she said, squeezing her daughter's body tight against hers.

No emotion could ever surpass the happiness that she felt when she saw her darling daughter. She had not seen her in nearly a year, and seeing her alive and well in health brought the greatest warmth to her heart. She grew yet again. And she was readily becoming a graceful lady, though she was only three. She had missed so much from her daughter's life. And she was about to miss so much more.

"Mummy," Elizabeth called again, placing her tiny hands on her mother's face and kissing her all over, "I knew you would come back. Papa said that you weren't coming back, but I knew you would. I miss you, Mummy." She began to laugh jovially, for she knew that her mother would never leave again.

Poor Elizabeth.

She had the widest gleeful smile on her ivory face at the joy of seeing her mother again. She slept for endless nights crying for her and now here she was. Everything in the world was alright now. Or so young Elizabeth thought.

Pain resumed to its rightful place in Anne's heart when her daughter spoke those words. Her smile towards Elizabeth was so melancholy, even the child had noticed.

"What's wrong, Mama?" she asked, her tiny arms wrapped around her mother's neck.

"Oh, Lizzie," Anne's sorrowfully sobbed "My Lizzie," she hugged her again, "My poor Lizzie."

Elizabeth felt her mother's tears and pulled back, frowning at the cumbersome expression on her mother's face. She had never seen her mother cry before. Why was she so sad?

"What's wrong, Mummy?" she asked, her little hands reaching up to wipe away her mother's wet tears.

This made Anne smile through her tears, gently laughing and kissing Elizabeth's forehead.

"Look how much you've grown, Elizabeth," she said, holding her at the waist to examine her daughter, "So anxious to advance….much like your father," she said, quietly, looking to Henry, who appeared to be agitated with the situation.

He had forgotten that Lady Bryan and Elizabeth were coming to court today. And now, the child had seen her mother. They would now forever remain inseparable. It would make things stressfully difficult to explain to Elizabeth in the future, as if it weren't harrowing enough now. He expected Lady Bryan to have Elizabeth well-trained with the graces of a true Tudor princess but her work seemed futile for she was so stubborn and refused to conform to society's ways just like her mother. Even as a three year-old, she resisted her father.

"But why are you sad?" Elizabeth asked, pouting a little.

Anne lowered her eyes to the pattern on Elizabeth's brown dress, avoiding her daughter's eyes.

"Elizabeth," she licked her lips, "I'm leaving."

Words could never describe how it broke her heart to tell her that. She tried not to break down in tears.

"But you just returned," Elizabeth was bewildered.

"I know, I know, darling," Anne looked up at her daughter, still putting up a fight with her tears, "But I must depart once more. And I won't be back."

Elizabeth's face reddened and her little heart sank when her mother spoke those dreadful words. Her lip began to tremble and Anne knew she was about to cry.

"But why? Why are you leaving, Mama? I don't want you to go. No…." Elizabeth refused to accept her mother's senseless words. She threw her arms around her once more, weeping.

"Oh, Lizzie," Anne pulled her daughter from her bosom so she could see her smile. She wiped her tears away, "Don't cry, sweetheart. Everything will be alright. I promise. Papa will take good care of you. You will be so happy without me, Elizabeth," she found her self lying to both Elizabeth and herself, "And you will grow up to be a fine lady. Just wait and see. You will be a Queen of England just like your mother. Only better," she added.

Nonetheless, Elizabeth still shook her head, throwing all her mother's words away. She didn't want to be a queen. She wanted her mother to stay forever. To sing songs to her, to read her favorite poems to her, and to explore the Royal Gardens with her. Nothing else mattered, she simply wanted her mother, and she refused to stop weeping.

"Goodbye, my sweet Lizzie," Anne said, deeply saddened by her daughter's sorrow, "I love you. And you shall never forget that. Promise me, Elizabeth," Anne's voice broke, "That you will never forget me, and how much I love you."

Elizabeth nodded, "I promise, Mama. I promise, I promise, I promise."

Anne nodded sternly and gave her daughter one last hug before standing up and leaving the courtroom.

Elizabeth had tried to run after her but Henry quickly grabbed her hand, knowing his daughter's mind. He dismissed Lady Bryan, privately deciding that he would replace her with a new tutor for Elizabeth. He needed someone who knew how to strictly enforce their teachings on his daughter, seeing as Lady Bryan failed to do so.

"Mama," she cried, hysterically, "No..." she cried after Anne in panic. She fought against Henry, her foot jabbing Henry in the stomach as she writhed to get away.

"Calm down, Elizabeth," Henry commanded, grunting as he tried to control his own daughter, but she was inconsolable and wailed out of total desolation as her mother left the castle. "Calm down," Henry repeated, turning her around so he could hug her.

Elizabeth stopped writhing and reclined to her father's bosom, resting her head on his shoulder and sobbing quietly. Henry gave a sigh, resting his head on Elizabeth's, rubbing his back to soothe her.

He could feel the sadness taking over him. The regret, the guilt, the sorrow he felt from the ghostly loneliness he felt when Anne left. What had he done? He destroyed everything all for nothing. And now his heart was filled with compounds of feelings he hadn't felt before.

It was called heartbreak.

~REFLECTION~

"Lost In Paradise"

_Evanescence _

I've been believing in something so distant

As if I was human

And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness

In me, in me

All the promises I made

Just to let you down

You believed in me, but I'm broken

I have nothing left

And all I feel is this cruel wanting

We've been falling for all this time

And now I'm lost in paradise

As much as I'd like the past not to exist

It still does

And as much as I'd like to feel like I belong here

I'm just as scared as you

I have nothing left

And all I feel is this cruel wanting

We've been falling for all this time

And now I'm lost in paradise

Run away, run away

One day we won't feel this pain anymore

Take it all away

Shadows of you

Cause they won't let me go

Until I have nothing left

And all I feel is this cruel wanting

We've been falling for all this time

And now I'm lost in paradise

Alone, and lost in paradise

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Sorry (again) for taking decades to upload this chapter. Hope you enjoyed. Song is "Lost in Paradise" by Evanescence, which I believe reflects Anne's feelings about what happened between her and Henry. Perfect song. Perfect band.


	8. I Was Once Queen of England

Anne did not sleep when she arrived at the House of Pembroke in London, one week later. Alas, she suffered many sleepless nights in her new home. Every moment that she shut her eyes, vivid images of her past flooded through her mind.

A gleeful Elizabeth would come to her bedchambers in her creamy silk nightgown, her arms outstretched towards her and she would say, _**Mama, kiss my fingertips for good luck, to keep the nightmares away**__, _her smile so sweet and innocent. She came to her mother every night during her stay at Tudor House. If she was not playing with her mother's long, brunette locks, she would be in her mother's arms, listening to poems by a Sir Thomas Wyatt. But as Anne tenderly reached out to take her daughter's hands she frowned when felt nothing.

She woke up to a vast room with caramel walls and deep crimson draperies from Israel, but there was no Elizabeth. She was back at the House of Tudor with Henry, or so Anne thought, since she no longer knew of her daughter's whereabouts.

It was the most painful transition she ever had to make as any former Queen of England. But she was still the Marquess of Pembroke. She had third highest title closest to the Crown, granting her enough power to terminate all connections with her father, no longer needing his funding, and to use her great riches to lead a grand life.

It was the front that she used to fool all the peoples of London, so no one could see her scars, her hurt, her desolation and despair.

People still addressed her as "Majesty" or "Your Highness" the first few weeks since her removal as Queen of England, as Henry had yet to make it public that he had divorced the infamous, seductive Anne Boleyn.

It was a cringe-worthy reminder of her past and sometimes, Anne would dwell on that pain, brooding quietly in her study.

Nan came to live with her. She proved herself to be Anne's true friend and companion. Ironically, though unsurprising, she assumed the role of a servant, though Anne was no longer Queen.

It did not matter to her. At least she had a friend.

Two months later, news spread across England like wildfire of the sudden marriage of King Henry to that pale Jane Seymour. The whore only had to wait for two months as opposed to Anne who had to wait to marry Henry for years.

Nan recommended that while she was still "young and fresh" she should court, seeing as she need a new male presence in her life to help her move past Henry and the hurt he caused her.

Anne took her advice to heart, but did not court for another three months because she found remnants of him everywhere.

He was in her jewelry, in her books, in her clothing, in her blankets. She could not get away from him. Not even in her sleep where she saw him most. There simply wasn't an escape.

There were several parties, dances, and dinners that she hosted in attempt to remain socially alive. The usually fiery, intelligent, witty Anne Boleyn became someone else at heart. She had been hurt badly by the turn of events in the darkest hour of her reign. It was something she could not seem to let go of.

Two weeks ago, though, when she hosted a private event, an old acquaintance that Anne knew from the French courts brought his son. A Sir Benjamin Christopher Knightly. He was a tall man, taller than Henry, bearing admirable features, sure to make any woman blush.

His skin bronzed from his escapades across the earth, he had hair darker than night with eyes greener than the English fields. A man of high standards and great affluence, making for a fine match with Anne.

He was not like Henry. Aggressive, blunt, lustful, seductive. He was well-mannered, quiet, and placid.

Anne liked him to a degree. He was charming, but not enticing. He was handsome, but he did not render her in awe of his looks. When Benjamin held her hand on walks, he did not know how to massage it the way Henry did. He kept their kisses short and quick, which led a very-experienced Anne to believe that Sir Knightly was a virgin. When he called upon her, he called upon her reticently, as if he were intimidated. He did not make her **feel **like he loved her.

But she courted Benjamin anyway, for recuperating purposes.

But Anne knew she'd never completely ameliorate.

She once led a life a great power, great love, and great pain. She had lost her power, lost her love. All that she was left with was the pain. And it was a pain that she found beyond the bounds of possibility to handle.

**END OF CHAPTER EIGHT**


	9. Happy Birthday, Elizabeth

"You are unhappy," Henry said to Elizabeth.

His upset daughter sat in his lap, her expression entirely rotten as the final birthday gift was presented before her. A bible from Sir Thomas Cromwell.

When Elizabeth said nothing, Henry bounced his knees, making her bounce with them. It was something that always made Elizabeth laugh, but not this time.

Something was really wrong.

Elizabeth had asked that her birthday party be thrown in the Royal Gardens and Henry did just that. She had asked to wear her cerulean dress with the violet embroidery and Henry allowed her to. The sun was golden, the grass was freshest it had ever been, and the azure sky was clear and untouched by a single cloud. How on earth could Elizabeth be so upset on a rare peaceful day such as this?

Henry sighed and turned Elizabeth towards him.

Her bottom lip was puckered and her eyebrows were furrowing. She was very unhappy, indeed.

"Lizzie," Henry asked, though sensed that he already knew, "What troubles you?" Elizabeth lowered her eyes to the ground. "It's your birthday, darling. You have many presents and all of your cousins are here. You should be delighted."

"I would be," Elizabeth retorted, her eyes still avoiding his, "If Mama were here."

Henry tried so hard to separate Elizabeth from her mother. He was willing to do anything at this point, but she was as unmovable as the mountains.

"Elizabeth," he gently said, "_Jane_ is your mother, now. Remember?" He lifted her face to his and rubbed her shoulder.

"No she isn't," Elizabeth grew very angry at that absurd remark. Almost too angry for a girl of four years, "I hate her. She will never be my mummy. I hate Jane!"

The festivities were a great diversion for everyone at the party as they were oblivious to the oncoming fight between the King of England and his tiny four year-old daughter.

"I want my mummy, Papa," Elizabeth continued.

_Damn you, Anne_, Henry thought as he brought Elizabeth to her feet.

"Now listen to me, Elizabeth. I will hear no more of this. Daughter or not, you are to respect your father and king. When I say that Jane is your mother, you are to agree, are we understood?"

Elizabeth glared at her father, her minuscule fists bunched up. Her face began to turn to a deep red as the familiar line formed between her eyebrows. She burst into a fit of angry tears, causing the entire party to halt. Everyone stopped their chatter and frowned at the unhappy Princess of England, who was wailing on her very own birthday.

Elizabeth did not care. She hated everyone. She hated Jane and her blonde hair. She hated her father because he refused to let her see her mother. It was all she wanted. Why couldn't she? Anne's disappearance made Elizabeth so distraught. So distraught, she couldn't enjoy her own birthday. How could her father think that anyone could replace Mummy?** Nobody** could **ever** replace her Mama.

As soon as Elizabeth's Ladies-in-Waiting came upon the scene, Henry refused their offer to take her away. He could handle his own child. Why, she had her mother's temper. Commanding everyone to continue their festivities, Henry knelt in front of his daughter, whose red hair bristled in the mild wind.

"My daughter," Henry said, softly, "Don't weep. Wipe your tears away, my Princess Elizabeth. You are so strong like your mother. And strong people do not weep."

_But even that is a lie._

Elizabeth listened to her father, sniffling as she wiped away her tears. Henry extended his hand towards her.

"Come, Lizzie. Let us walk together," Henry said as a defeated Elizabeth somberly placed her tiny hand in his.

They turned their backs on the source of the celebration and made way for the outer locales of the Royal Garden. There was one particular place that Henry wanted to take his daughter. It was the part of the garden where there were hedges taller than Henry that were strewn with roses both red and white. A suggestion made by Master Holbein, who could not attend the celebration as he was stricken with a fever and gout. Little did young Elizabeth know that this was where he and Anne would nestle and neck while she was pregnant with her.

"Elizabeth," Henry spoke, once they were well away from the busy party, "I know that you are confused. I know that you miss your mother. But…you must forget her."

_You haven't forgotten her. How could your own daughter forget her?_

"Mummy left because of Jane," Elizabeth peeped.

"What?" Henry asked.

"It's Jane's fault!" Elizabeth shouted.

_No, it is I who drove your mother away, Lizzie_.

Henry sighed , deciding that he would harbor the truth no longer. Elizabeth was old enough to understand the truth, was she not? So he would tell her the very truth.

"Lizzie," he knelt before her again, "**I** sent your mother away, alright? She made a promise she couldn't keep and has disappointed me too many times. So I sent her away and married Jane."

"So….it is like a punishment? So that Mummy will learn her lesson?" Elizabeth asked, tiny doses of hope growing inside, "So she will come back, will she not?"

Henry shook his head, prepared for any kind of reaction from his daughter.

Elizabeth grew angry once more and any hope she had, quickly disintegrated.

"So Jane is replacing Mummy," she grumbled.

_No one can replace your mother, sweetheart_.

Henry shook his head, "No. You are far too young to truly understand right now, Lizzie. But I promise you, Jane is not here to replace your mother. I know I said that earlier, but I did not mean it."

Elizabeth lowered her eyes to the grass once more. There was something she wanted to ask her father. Something she wasn't sure of.

Henry sensed her curiosity through the silence right away.

"What is it, darling?" he asked.

"Do you love her?" Elizabeth asked, deciding to ask. Her anger was slightly subsiding.

"Do I love Jane?" Henry asked.

"No, Papa. Do you love Mummy?" Elizabeth titled her head in inquiry, "Mummies and Daddies are supposed to love each other. That's what the bible says."

It was Henry's turn to look to the ground.

"Can you keep a secret?" Henry whispered in Elizabeth's ear.

His daughter nodded, excitement fermenting in her tummy as her anger died away once more.

_Tell her the truth._

"I will be honest with you, Lizzie. I do love Mummy. I love her so much, it confuses me. She just makes me so upset, Elizabeth. And it's hard…." Henry's attention strayed from his daughter to the very spot where he and Anne would kiss, "….so very hard when you hate someone so much, you love them. And then, you are no longer sure how you feel anymore."

It made absolutely no sense to Elizabeth. How could you love someone and hate someone at the same time?

"Papa?" she asked, bewildered.

Henry's words caught up to him. Perhaps he was too honest with his four year-old. He simply smiled at Elizabeth and stood up, taking her hand.

"We should be getting back to your party, now. It is rude to leave your guests unattended to."

Henry began to walk, but a stagnant Elizabeth pulled him back. She refused to budge. Looking back at his daughter, Henry realized that she was starting to cry.

"I can't go back, Papa. This is where it happened."

There was so much terror in those blue-green eyes. Her body stood frozen and stiff as she remembered in vivid detail, what happened at this very location.

"What are you talking about, dear?" Henry asked, concerned.

"This is where the guards took Mummy. I remember, Papa, I remember because Mama was telling me not to touch the roses because they were thorny and I could get hurt. This is where they took her."

The tears began to run down her pale cheeks.

"Elizabeth…" Henry sighed, entirely regretting that he took this path. It seemed that every moment his daughter began to recover, there was always something that set her back even farther.

"I miss her, Papa," Elizabeth sobbed, "I miss when Mummy sang to me at night. I miss playing with Mummy's hair. I miss Mummy's poems. I only want her back," she look to Henry with agonizing longing in her eyes, "That is what I wish for my birthday. Mummy."

Henry hated seeing Elizabeth so overwrought and melancholy. He did not enjoy seeing his darling daughter suffer in the absence of the much-needed Anne Boleyn. It has been nearly five months, and Elizabeth remained persistent in yearning for her mother's presence. It hurt him deeply and he was desperate to quell her sorrows.

"My Lizzie," he quietly called, "I will not allow you to see your mother. At least…not in person."

Henry reached into his vest pocket and found just was he was looking for. He pulled out a silver locket, warm from his clothes. He smiled gently at the locket before handing it to his daughter.

Elizabeth took that locket in her hands, a fascinated grin on her face. She rolled the locket in her hands, running her thumbs over the engraved letters** AB** several times.

"What is it, Papa?" she asked, having never seen a locket before.

"Open it," Henry commanded his daughter and watched as her thumbs pound the latch and she pried it open.

Her face, glum seconds ago, immediately lit up brilliantly and she squealed, "MAMA!"

Yes, it was the very locket from all those years ago during the conquest for Anne's heart. Henry had been so desperate and Anne had been so resistant, ignoring all his advances. Henry sought out to woo her through letters and gifts that expressed his love and desire for her and Anne returned every letter and every gift. Henry remembered how hurt he felt at first. But then, her resistance only inflamed his desire. It was on the day that Anne sent a letter to him enclosed with a locket, bidding that he may never forget her face, that Henry knew she began to fall in love with him. Inside the locket, was a painting of the beloved Anne Boleyn. No one, neither Anne nor Jane knew that Henry still kept to locket in his pocket.

"Your mother gave that to me so that I would never forget her," Henry told Elizabeth, "Now I am giving it to you so that you never forget her." He closed the locket and hung it around Elizabeth's neck.

Insurmountable glee filled Elizabeth's little body as she threw her arms around her father's neck and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you, Papa. It is the nicest present I have."

She was quite content with the locket, as the image of her mother faded away to nothing from time to time. Now, she would be with her forever and as she promised, she would never forget her mother and how much she loved her.

Henry suppressed a sigh and succumbed to his dear daughter's embrace, stroking her soft hair. The scent of it tickled his nose.

_She smells like Anne. Can I ever get away from her? She embodies everything. Our very daughter has become her. And while she may be content with a locket, I am not. _

That distant, but familiar pain floated across Henry's heart as he and Elizabeth began to rendezvous back to the party. Yet refused to dwell on these emotions as he knew what they were . The pain, the misery, the guilt, the regret. As much as Elizabeth suffered, Anne was suffering worst of all and Henry would not deny that he had been sorry.

He could not sleep at night, without thinking that Anne was there beside him. He had gotten used to waking up with her body entwined with his, her morning giggles filling his ears. Her seductive smiles that would send the two into fits of passion and sometimes the court would not see their king until late into the afternoon as Anne was able to keep him entertained for hours on end. It wasn't the just the lust. It was the little things, like the way she would suggest that she cut her hair and Henry was quick to object. Or how she'd blush deeply when he told her how beautiful she was.

If there was a way that Henry could have Anne in his arms again, he would use it.

If there was a way….

END OF CHAPTER NINE


	10. OneTwoThree

The gracious sun poured through the glass ceiling of the guest room, drowning it in pure gold. This was the perfect room for a sunny day. Tall windows that were reaching for the heavens were set on both sides of the room. The furniture, dark cherry-colored floors and auburn tables and chairs, complemented the gold illumination, and Anne, dressed in a beautiful white dress with an enormous genuine pearl that pinned her hair back, sat across from Benjamin Knightly, smiling behind her cards.

Elizabeth's birthday had passed last week, which saddened Anne as she and Elizabeth had the most fun on her birthdays. But she let the pain pass and decided that she would entreat herself to a game of cards with Sir Knightly, as he did not complain when he lost, as opposed to Henry.

And because she was winning, she grinned mischievously, treasuring her eternal upper-hand at games.

Benjamin, who had played cards with her on a routinely basis, chuckled, "You simper as if you are winning."

"That's because I am, winning, Benjamin," Anne proclaimed, laying down her cards to reveal an indomitable hand.

Benjamin's jaw fell agape in shock, shaking his head, "I don't believe it."

Anne threw her head back and laughed, "I always win."

Henry hated that. But the thought of him brought an evanescent hurt over her heart. She shook her head and looked back at Benjamin.

He was smiling at her. It was one of those strange smiles that provoked curiosity.

"What is it?" Anne asked.

"Oh, Anne," Benjamin relaxed in the chair, tossing his cards on the table, "I've been thinking. We should marry each other already. We've known each other long enough, haven't we? Yes, we should wed."

"I…" Anne's throat became dry, "I don't see the hurry."

"Well, I don't see the wait," Benjamin protested, offended by her surprise. Did she not love him?

Anne tried to laugh off the tense moment.

"You're bringing up marriage in the middle of such a game?" She truly wanted to grasp Benjamin by his collar and scream, _**I will never love another man again! I will never marry another man again! King or Knight, it does not matter! **_She remained collected, though, shifting uncomfortable in her chair.

"Tell me, love," Benjamin continued, failing to sense Anne's discomfort, "What would be a better time? You are young, vivacious, fertile. You would make a stupendous wife and a phenomenal mother."

"I already AM a mother," Anne insisted, her eyebrows wrinkling with irritation.

"To the daughter, the Princess of England, whom you haven't seen in over half a year."

"Excuse me!" Anne stood up, realizing what Benjamin was saying, "How **dare** you say such a thing to me! You do_ not_ know how I long to see my child! Nor will you ever!" her chest heaved with rage, "I was once the Queen of England, and all I ever did was love my husband and love my child!"

Words cannot express the woes of separation of a mother from her child. It is like having the heart ripped from the chest. Benjamin ceased to understand this, and that is what made enraged Anne above all. He was asking her to betray her heart by marrying him and bearing him a child.

"I did not mean to offend you, Anne," Benjamin declared in earnest, motioning for her to return to her seat, "Please, I am sorry. I only want to help you move on."

The storm between the two slowly calmed, and Anne was able to resort to normal breathing. Her eyes relaxed and she sat down.

"I will move on," she assured him, "When I am ready."

She couldn't go on living like this. Henry had it all. He had a new wife and he had their Elizabeth. And all Anne had to hold on to was memories of their times together. She could not revel in those memories, as they would destroy her if she didn't learn to let go of the past. Because while everyone prospered and continued to progress with their lives, she still suffered. And it was time to let go.

She simply wasn't sure if marrying someone like Benjamin was a wise idea.

Yes, he was handsome, and a notable man of society, having been knighted by King Francis himself. But he revealed his true character. He was rash, and rushed into things without thinking them through. He refused to understand Anne's predicament and thought only of them wedding one another. Would having him as a husband be worth it?

"**Marquis! Marquis!**"

Anne was torn from her dwellings as a great commotion was made near the grand staircase.

Several women came bumbling down the stairs, including Nan, whose hair stuck out from various angles. Their footsteps sounded like violent thunder on a dark, stormy night. Anne became alarmed as the women made way for her.

"Marquis!" Nan raced to Anne, the other ladies quick on her trail, "It's His Majesty, the King! He is coming, Anne!" She held her chest as she tried to catch her breath, "His Majesty is coming!"

"What?" Anne stood up, her heart racing.

"Yes," one of the servants nodded in agreement, "I was just washing your dress when I heard hooves in the distance and I looked out the window to see the royal flags. I'd would recognize them anywhere. It is the King, indeed!"

_No._

Anne shook her head in denial. It was a dream. Like all the others, it was a dream.

Everyone else bumbled about, fussing over themselves, trying their best to fix their appearances, but Anne stood frozen, lost, and confused. It was a dream, right? Henry was coming to see her?

It was all a dream.

All she had to do was shut her eyes, and when she woke, she would be in her bed, the morning sun there to quell her tense nerves.

Anne shut her eyes tight, trying to block out all the hubbub surrounding her. One...two...three...

END OF CHAPTER TEN

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ugh I know! This chapter was short! But the next chapter will not be disappointing, rest-assured! Is it a dream? Or is Henry really coming? FIND OUT SOON! :D**


	11. Just a Dream

Anne leapt out of her sleep.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, desperate to find air.

She grasped her chest, which was soaked in sweat.

She was sweating so much, her nightgown adhered to her body.

Her chest heaving, she looked around her room to inspect her surroundings.

There was no Benjamin, no Nan, no Henry.

It had been a dream.

Partially grateful and partially disappointed, Anne shakily pulled the covers off of her body and climbed out of bed. She could not tell which part of the day it was. She hadn't known how long she slept.

She was drenched in sweat and needed to cleanse herself immediately.

"Ladies!" she called, cocking her head towards the door to ensure that someone heard her.

She froze for a moment, waiting for someone to respond.

After moments of eerie silence, the door opened, and Lady Bridget entered.

Her brown eyes big and alarmed, she rushed to Anne's side, chastising herself for not having arrived sooner.

"Yes, Madame?" she asked, daring not to raise her eyes to Anne, who felt overwrought on the inside, but presented the most intimidating glare.

"Why was no one here to tend to me?" Anne demanded.

"Madame, you were asleep and we felt that our presence would disturb you," Lady Bridget explained, "Forgive us for our impertinence." She pronounced the word "impertinence" in a very silly way, as she was a native French girl and her accent was thick.

Anne's threatening glare relaxed and she told Lady Bridget to look at her.

"It wasn't at the hands of impertinence, Lady Bridget, you were being considerate. But next time, when I am resting, at least two of you should be at my bedside, is that understood?" Anne explained.

Lady Bridget nodded, "Yes, Madame."

"Draw the curtains," Anne commanded, lazily motioning for the draperies, "And have Barron prepare me some soup. And I'd like a warm bath afterwards, I feel very…sticky."

"Yes, _Madame de la Marquis_," Lady Bridget nodded and scurried for the curtains.

Anne sighed and looked to the mirror. She looked miserable. She felt miserable.

All those dreams, they felt so damn real.

Was it a sign? Or was it God tormenting her for whatever reasons unknown?

"Is that all, Madame?" Lady Bridget inquired after drawing the curtains, introducing Anne to a pink afternoon sky.

"Yes. _Merci,_ Bridget" Anne smiled, though she looked entirely worn.

After a very fine and renewing soup and a relaxing bath, Anne donned a dark brown dress and sat in the sun room, where the afternoon skies gave her some sort of tranquility.

There was a soft "knock-knock" on the door, disturbing the much-needed silence.

Anne grumbled, "Come in."

She had asked to be left alone for a reason.

Nan walked in with a letter in her hands.

"Anne, I understand that you desire to be left in solitude, however, a letter from the Duke of Luxembourg. Would you like me to read it to you?"

Anne nodded. The Duke of Luxembourg was her very good friend from King Francis' court. He was also Benjamin Knightley's father.

Nan turned the seal towards the nearby candle so that the ruby wax could melt and then opened it.

She cleared her throat, "Eh-hem."

_Bonjour, Madame De La Marquis. It has been a long time since we last spoke as I have been in France for a great two years, and I fear you may have forgotten me. How should you like to come to a buoyant celebration of my son's appointment to Earl of Winchester. I assure you, Madame, there will be several familiar faces that will compel you to return to His Majesty, King Francis' court. His Majesty also sends his regards. Harrison House near the Thames will be the host of this celebration. The Earl of Winchester and I look forward to your uplifting presence._

_ Tomas Luc Bernard, Duke of Luxembourg_

Nan folded the letter and smiled perkily at Anne.

"Will you attend the celebration, Anne?" she asked.

Anne thought about it for a moment. It has been long since she went to such events and decided that attending one would take her mind off of the harrowing feelings she had been harboring for so long.

"Yes, Nan. I will," she confirmed, "And you shall come, too."

"You mean it?" Nan asked, having no such rank to have to honor of attending such an event.

"Yes, of course. You are my loyal friend, are you not?"

Nan nodded and smiled warmly, "Thank you, Anne."

END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN


	12. Come to Me

The event was as buoyant and lively as the Duke of Luxembourg, who had yet to arrive, promised. Harrison House, commonly used for such events, was especially designed for nobles of the world as some recognizable people were there, such as dukes and earls. Musicians produced festive music to perk up the stiffly aristocratic atmosphere, and the air was cultivated by the strong scent of fresh and well-seasoned meat. The themed color that everyone was to wear was red, in honor of Benjamin Knightly's favorite color. There were draperies hanging from the ceiling in the color of purple-for the royals. These draperies were the ones that Anne admired the most, as she had such an eye for design.

Her arm wrapped around Benjamin's-pardon-the _Earl of Winchester_'s, she faced several "Marquis, comment allez-vous?" and "Marquis, vous nous avez manqué".

The French who came from Francis' court recognized the brunette as the true and divine woman she was. Not the way the English so heinously ridiculed her based on loose factuality and rumors.

It was one of the many reasons that Anne felt like France was her true home, as she had been free to do as she pleased without every woman scorning jealously at her and every man claiming to experience an erotic escapade with her.

In France, Anne experienced the true definition of freedom without sinning against herself and whilst maintaining her morality. True, she was no saint at heart, but she wasn't promiscuous, either. She lived her life at court practicing the graces of true lady in preparations for the real world. All those fond memories of staying at King Francis' court would be everlasting on Anne's heart. She remembered how astonished she had been by the conspicuously enormous difference in the atmosphere of the English courts as opposed to the French court. The vulgarity, the profanity, it had all been too much for Anne at first. But soon enough, she grew accustomed to it. And much to her surprise, Queen Katherine of Aragon summoned her to be her Lady-in-Waiting. And soon she had the eye of the King of England.

That was a road she preferred not to go down. The past became so entangled with the present in such little effort.

Anne felt as if memory lane were dragging her by her hair as she inspected the crowd around her and realized that there were several recognizable Englishmen and Englishwomen from the courts of Greenwich Palace. It was alarmingly suspicious to her.

But she continued to smile for everyone and support Benjamin, though his ranking was of measly meaning to her.

She simply had to get away from the hysteria of being cooped up and miserable inside her home.

The chatter and hubbub suddenly subsided as blaring horns abruptly cut into air and like a wave, the room shifted towards the booming voice near the brass entrance doors.

The young man at the door banged his steel rod on the ground twice before unrolling a scroll and reading from it.

"The Duke of Luxembourg!"

Anne's good friend walked into the room, adorned in red robes, followed by many of his groomsmen, who were the equivalent of Ladies-in-Waiting.

Submissive.

Pathetic.

Afraid to breathe.

"Father!" Benjamin exclaimed.

The two embraced each other, joyously chortling. The Duke of Luxembourg questioned Anne's status and she answered, "Tres bien. Merci, Duc de Luxembourg."

"I trust you are satisfied with this celebration?" he asked.

"Ah, Duke, this should not be based on my preferences," Anne replied, "As the Earl of Winchester is the subject of this event."

This caused Benjamin to bash proudly, which was highly disturbing to Anne as she never made a man giddily blush before. Or anyone, for that matter.

They continued to converse, and more people joined the conversation. Quickly, Anne got lost in the peace and tranquility of an intriguing discussion of important concepts.

So lost, she failed to hear the announcement of the King of England.

* * *

Henry developed a reputation for being in places he shouldn't be in. And coming to the celebration hosted at Harrison House was no coincidence. It was deemed incredibly rude-even for a king of England-to impose on a party both uninvited and unannounced. But put he aside all common etiquette and customs as he could not help himself.

He had been alerted by his clerk that she would be here.

And he had to see for himself.

He had to.

He glanced above the mass of people, and looked around for her.

There were numerous women everywhere. None of which were a brunette. None of which were her.

He commanded his men to help seek her out.

Whichever sort of event this was, Henry had never seen a room so crowded. Not even for a party thrown for him. There were far too many people and it seemed like an impossibility to find her.

He could have stopped the party if he wanted to, seeing as _he_ was the King of England, henceforth,_ he_ owned Harrison House, but he felt that it would be better to locate her beneath and amid the hysteria. Should she be warned of his presence, she would be sure to flee and hide from him.

Yet, there was no Anne. Perhaps she was not here. Perhaps his clerk heard wrong. After all, Anne had known better than to step into the vicinity of the King's realms as she had been banned, had she not? And knowing him more than any woman-even his mother, Anne would have been sure that he would know of her presence.

Hopes of finding her dwindled as Henry stopped looking around for her. The music was too loud, the chatter was far too tense. There were too many activities going on at once. Anne would never sustain her sanity in such an atmosphere. No, she would never be in a place like this.

Resolving that she was not here, Henry sighed, called back his men and turned around, making way for the doors. But a single change in the atmosphere made him freeze in his footsteps.

Henry heard a voice.

An unmistakable voice.

A voice that possessed the most powerful elegance and woman could ever wield. With the help of years of experience in hunting and tracking noises, Henry's trained ears guided him to the source of the sound. With little difficulty, he found her. Her back had been turned to him, but he knew it was her.

There stood Anne.

Her dark locks had grown profusely, extending to her bum, nearly passing it. There had been large genuine pearls plaited into her hair to form a crown.

Pearls symbolized wisdom and originality. All that she ever had resembled.

Henry did not notice Benjamin or all the others closely surrounding her.

He saw only Anne.

For a moment, he stood still, taking in all of her from a distance.

She was draped in red, which was a color Henry always found compelling on her. Part of it was because on the many occasions of their passions, she had worn red to seduce him.

A flame lit and burned fervidly in Henry's stomach. He would stare no longer.

He began to make way for her and the room moved like waves as everyone began to curtsy and chant softly, "Your Majesty" as Henry passed.

Henry did not feel like a king of England as he raced for his possession. He felt like a small child that was very excited because of a new gift.

In few swift steps, he reached her.

"Anne," Henry called out. He grasped her hand and spun her around quickly to face him.

Her deep blue eyes widened in both shock and terror.

The others, including Benjamin and his father, fell to their knees in the presence of the King of England. But Henry would not let her bow down to him. He held her tight.

"H-Henry!" Anne gasped in shock, "Your Majesty!"

She refused to panic, as she declared to herself that this was another dream. She had known because like all the others, Henry appeared so spontaneously. He did not belong here, so it was dream.

She shut her eyes tight, prepared to jump out of her sleep at any moment.

It wasn't a dream.

Henry was truly standing before her. The man that cut so deep into her heart, tore her apart, and scattered her to the winds was really holding her.

"What…what are you doing here?" she asked.

Henry opened his mouth, but words ceased to flow. He shut it right away. He was at a loss for words.

"Anne, I…" he began, but then stopped.

He realized the expression on her face. She was frightened. Her blue eyes were jumping in terror. What was this look she held on her face? Was she afraid of**_ him_**? An impromptu sadness passed through his soul and Henry wanted to ask Anne why she appeared to be so afraid of him. But then he realized he was standing in a room filled with hundreds of people, who knew to keep their eyes to the floor.

Anne, her throat clogged by her heart, saw the hurt in his eyes when he found her. What- where-**_why_** was he here? Her thoughts jumbled and bounced, as her mind scrambled for a logical reason of Henry's abrupt return to her life.

"Anne," Henry lowered his voice, "You must come to me. Before your resting hours, come to me under the large drooping tree near Lord Winfrost's manor. I will wait."

Henry cautiously let go of her hand, which trembled beneath his grip, and stepped back to view her once more.

Her soul was missing. There was no fire. Only vast emptiness. He took all that she ever had away. Now there was no Anne Boleyn. This was a woman robbed.

Henry saw right through her.

The music resumed as the King of England left the room.

Benjamin and his father looked to Anne right away.

"Madame," the Duke of Luxembourg asked, alarmed by Anne's pale skin, "You look ghostly. Are you alright?"

Ghostly was the appropriate word.

Anne gave no answer. She turned her back to Benjamin and his father and walked towards the back room. Benjamin and her Ladies-in-Waiting were quick to follow her but Anne cut them off.

Raising a finger to them, she ordered, "Leave me be. I wish to be alone. You can expect me to be in my chambers sooner or later. Now go."

She did not bid farewell to Benjamin.

Panting, Anne rushed for the back door and yanked it open where she was welcomed to a cold hallway with brick walls. That would suit her. Anywhere else would suit her.

Henry truly came to her. It was no illusion.

Anne did not know why she cowered so easily when she saw him. What reason did she have to be afraid of the man she once loved? Or still loved.

She held her chest and shut her eyes, recalling the event. He had asked her to come to him. He asked her to come to a very sentimental location. The drooping tree, as they called it, was a place where she and he would meet in the earlier years of their courtship. It used to be the only place where they could enjoy each other's company in private.

And now Henry was back, bidding her to come see him under the drooping tree. Anne spent a good hour contemplating whether she would come to him or not.

Henry was an intelligent man who knew how to play on her feelings. Whatever his intentions were-Anne could not conclude his intentions as he was oozing pain and regret from his soul-they could not be trusted.

Anne knew that going to Henry would send her into a whirlwind of mixed emotions. She knew of the malicious consequences of going to him.

But there was a certain danger to it all that attracted her. Not that she was looking for trouble. She wanted to see what Henry wanted. She had to see.

She would go to him.

**END OF CHAPTER TWELVE**


	13. Do You Forgive Me?

Henry stood beneath the drooping tree near Lord Winfrost's, an old tutor, manor. His arms folded across his chest, he waited, as promised. It was unanswerable, whether Anne would come or not. Henry knew that he gave her years' worth of reason to not to trust or believe a single word that came forth from him. Hell, if he were her, he wouldn't come. He wasn't even certain if Anne entirely comprehended his words. When he grasped her arm, she only stared, her jaw agape, her eyes wide, and her body frozen in fright. The years seemed to have finally caught up to her. But only Henry himself could tell. She didn't age too much. It was the stress that seemed to take away her vivacity. To everyone else, Anne would have seemed like a fresh and shiny red apple, perfectly ripe for picking. That was her façade.

The courts used to rave about Anne whenever she passed through. "The brunette" they would call her. Henry remembered how much the men envied him when they saw the two together. After all, this was a woman who would stifle men with her sharp tongue, yet ravishing looks. And the women would always scorn and whisper, but it never bothered Anne. And if it did, Henry would never know because she kept her head held high, her brunette cascade flouncing as well. They were the most envied couple in all of England. No one envied Henry anymore, now that he was married to plain Jane. The men did not buzz eagerly when she passed through, and the women only looked to her with earnest veneration as she was the Queen of England.

Who would have thought that any man would ever wish to do away with such a rare, elegant, mysterious, brunette?

"Halt!" one of the guards surrounding Henry shouted, pointing his sword to the distinguished figure descending upon the scene, "In the name of the King."

The figure paused, put its hand out as if it were saying "stop" and took slow, gentle strides toward the guard.

"Do not move any further!" the guard shouted, now alarmed, "Reveal yourself or you will be harmed."

The figure halted immediately. It quickly moved its hands to its head where it removed the scarf that hid its face. But it remained in the darkness and did not reveal its name.

Henry hastily got between the guard and the figure before violence ensued.

"Wait," he commanded his guard. He put a hand out to finalize his order and turned to the dark figure.

"Anne," Henry called, inviting her to come into the moonlight.

Anne stepped out of the darkness, surprising the guards, who were ready to kill anyone that dared bring harm to the King of England. They did not expect to see the Marquess of Pembroke at all.

Henry told his guards to stand down and give them privacy. They complied immediately, moving to the outskirts of the land.

Anne began to shiver and shake as the wind caught her from behind, making her hair whip violently. She should have taken her coat with her when she left the party. Of course, she had left in secret, not wanting to attract attention to her. It was rude to leave the party without giving notice or paying Benjamin a farewell. But this had to be done.

"Your Majesty," Anne bowed, "Henry, you insisted that I come here to see you."

"It has been so long, Anne," Henry spoke calmly, despite the bitterness in Anne's voice. She did not appear to be frightened any longer. Only there was a wall that she put up. And she kept her distance from him.

"Yes, almost a year, Henry," Anne said, deciding amid her cold journey that she would not hold back, "I am astounded."

"How come?"

"I am astounded because you have not forgotten me," Anne replied, saucily "You moved on so quickly. You have a new wife. Someone who is calm and demure- entirely different from your last wife. And Elizabeth must be overjoyed that she has a new mother. She must have forgotten me, too."

Henry shook his head. They hadn't been alone for more than a few minutes and Anne was already riled up. He wanted to avoid fighting with her. He wanted things to happen smoothly.

"Anne, I have not forgotten you. I am here now, aren't I?" he professed.

"It….it barely matters, Henry," Anne said, "Whatever your reasons for coming back into my life are, it does not matter at all. You yourself forbade contact between us. You breached your own orders."

"I am the King of England," Henry simply replied, "Are these not my lands that I preside over? Are these not my laws that people follow?"

Anne shut her eyes and shook her head, "I never denied your authority, Henry. I never denied that you are the King of England. These are your lands and these are your laws. You are free to gallivant, your Majesty. You've made that quite clear."

She was testing him. Henry knew. Her words began to irk him.

"Why are you so bitter, Anne?" Henry demanded, "I have left you a great deal of affluence. You still hold the title as Marquess of Pembroke and you are the richest woman in England, beneath the Queen."

Anne's eyebrows furrowed. Angry tears started to form, but they did not flow.

"You ask me why I am bitter, Henry? I spend my nights sleepless and my mornings joyless because all that I have ever known and loved has been taken from me. I was once the Queen of England. I am forbidden to see my own daughter and it pains me to know that that pale Seymour gets to see her grow. The only man I have ever loved betrayed me and broke my heart. And now I live alone, surrounded by wealth, but it means nothing at all. I am _**broken**_, Henry. That is why I am bitter."

Anne began to shake once more. Autumn nights in London were unbearably cold. The wind continued to torture her. She could feel her nose and ears redden from the frigidness.

Henry could tell that she was freezing in this weather.

"Anne, did you not bring a coat with you?" he asked, "Why would you do that?"

Anne dismissed his concerns, "Why do you want to see me, Henry? Why did you choose this place to meet at? Why are you here?"

The drooping tree was their escape when they were first courting. They used to wait until it was late in the afternoon to flee to the tree. They used to lie in the grass and nuzzle each other. They would lay there and kiss until their lips became sore and their jaws could take no more. Sometimes, Henry's hands would begin to wander across her body and when things grew passionate, he would try to make love to her, desperately whispering, "I can't wait any longer." But Anne had managed to keep him wanting more and more without ever becoming disinterested in her. Sometimes they would cite poetry by great poets that existed long before their time. They would share stories of their childhood with each other and laugh until tears filled their eyes. And on days where there were no things to discuss, they were content with simply having each other. Nothing would ever come between them. Except for a blonde whore.

"Do you not want me here?" Henry asked, feeling the ire in him grow.

"No," Anne answered, "Your intentions are never good. I do not trust you. I cannot trust you."

That set Henry off.

"You are a rancorous woman, Anne. I thought you changed, but it is clear that you haven't. You still expect the worst from people. I do not understand why this even surprises me."

"I do not expect the worst from people."

Now they were fighting.

"I only expect the worst from _you_. How could I not?" Anne's teeth began to chatter, along with her body. The cold was really getting to her.

"Anne, you treasure the past too dearly," Henry said, "I pity you. You have yet to let it go."

Anne brazenly retorted, "You pity me, yet I am sure that the past is the reason you are standing before me."

Those words felt like a splinter in the hand. Anne was right. It was the past that brought Henry back into her life. It was_ their _past. All that they had ever been, Henry wanted it back.

"It is lonely at Tudor Castle," Henry said, weakly.

Anne did not sense his sincerity.

"It was lonely when you slept with all those women whilst we were married. It was lonely when you blamed me for the miscarriages of our sons. It was lonely when you shut me up in the Tower of London. It is lonely _**now**_, "Anne shot at him, "And it was all a game to you, Henry. If you expect me to fall for yet another lie, then you are a damn fool."

She did not beg forgiveness for insulting the King of England. He deserved to feel her wrath.

Henry remained silent.

"It is not a good feeling, is it?" Anne rhetorically asked, "Imagine feeling that way for three torturous years. After countless promises of eternal love and untainted devotion, imagine being brought down to the level of **dirt** at the hands of your promisor? You will never understand that feeling, Henry. It is best that you leave me be and allow me to sustain whatever sanity I have left in me…." Anne sniffled.

She turned away from Henry and began to shake compulsively in the freezing cold.

Henry felt his heart grow weak when he saw her like this. She overlooked all the things he had been trying to say. She spilled all her sorrows to him. And in the end, she still felt alone and…cold.

"Anne…" he reached out to touch her, "Come here. It is cold. You will fall terribly ill in this weather."

Anne angrily moved his hand from her shoulder, not wanting him to touch her at all.

Henry grasped her again, turning her around to face him. Anne put up a fight, trying to pry his grasp from her wrist. She irately grunted, trying to pull back, hot tears streaming down her face, but Henry was entirely stronger than her. Without hurting her, he held her tight, bringing her to his chest.

"Stop fighting me, Anne," he said, as Anne tried to beat his chest, "Stop fighting me."

He heard her release a sob as her hands stopped hitting him and she finally yielded to his embrace.

He was warm. And draped in a thick fur coat. Anne stopped resisting him and buried her head in the crook of his warm neck. Henry held her until she stopped shaking and her teeth stopped chattering. He brought the sides of his coat around her body and shut his eyes to inhale the familiarly relaxing scent of her- lavender. The two began to enjoy the closeness and for a moment, everything was alright in the world.

Anne whispered hoarsely, "I'm so tired, Henry. So, so tired."

She was tired of fighting. Tired of being hurt. Tired of feeling trapped. She needed to be set free and relieved of her pain.

Henry lifted Anne's chin so that she could stare into his ice-blue eyes.

"I did not come here to fight with you, sweet Anne," he did not call her that in so long, "I did not come here to bring you to tears. I came to apologize to you."

Anne's face wrinkled in confusion. Henry did not apologize for anything. Not as a man. Not as the King of England.

"Do you forgive me, Anne? For all the misery I brought upon you?"

Henry did not allow her to answer. He looked to her lips, which appeared very delectable to him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, drawing his hands around her waist. Anne moaned softly and felt the cold dissipate as the heat between the two started. She tilted her head and tentatively snuck her tongue into his mouth, curious to feel the heat of the lust she lost.

A deep groan escaped Henry's throat and he pulled back, holding Anne at the waist.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked.

Anne, her lips aching for more, swallowed. It was the only way to let go. To forgive and to forget. She nodded gently and rushed to his lips, throwing her arms around him.

She began to cry, and she wasn't sure if it was because she was saddened by all her sorrows or happy because for once in a long time, she felt gratuitously loved.

**END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

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******AUTHOR'S NOTE: Forgive me for taking so long to update. I've been having difficulties approaching this chapter, so it took a while to find the inspiration for it. I used the song, "Good Enough" by Evanescence to influence me. I hope you enjoyed this. Review please! Next chapter coming soon! **


	14. Anne's Diary Entry

_**The heart is more fragile than the mind. It cannot reason with itself. It only acts upon instinct, knowing no bounds. It does exercise control or rationality. It is senseless and wild in the wake of passion. It is so manipulative and precious in the hands of any handler. When the heart is torn, it is unknown how long it will be before the ridge is mended. The mind, on the other hand, is stronger than the heart. It possesses logic and knows when to turn away and when to give in. It is in constant battle with the heart. In my case, it loses on most occasions. I wish I had a heart of stone. This would ensure that my safety, my sanity, and my sovereignty will forever be unbreakable. It is a fantasy for a woman like me. People mistake my wit and sharp tongue for numbness to emotion. I feel now more than I ever have. I feel the exasperation of a woman exhausted from distrust and fear evoked by the misconception of a loving husband. I feel the unending anger riled up from the collective disdain of the people I am surrounded by. The women are wicked and the men are sordid. **_

_**There is no one I aspire to be like, no one I admire strongly enough to want to echo their characteristics. My mother died when I was too young to process love, my sister's promiscuity tainted my name and reputation, my brother's treacherous schemes left me suspicious subjects, and my father-the bastard he is-used me my entire life. I thought I had done well for myself as far as remaining modest and pure. And then I met the King of England and I allowed him to rule over my heart. I devoted my very soul to him but that wasn't good enough. He came sniffing after me, begging me to love him. When I did and he got what he wanted, he tossed me to the snarling mouths of the wolves. He gave people more reasons to judge me based on loose rumours that usually loomed from Henry's court. **_

_**When he cast me off and separated me from the only ray of light in our dark marriage-my dear Elizabeth-I spent my mornings and nights lamenting over the cruel hand I had been dealt. I dwelled on my pain until darkness usurped me- sometimes lasting for days. I was saddened by the betrayal. Here was man I thought would love me forever. I knew nothing of heartbreak. Not until my bed became cold without his warming presence. Not until I learned where he kept them- his mistresses. Not until I had been replaced by one of them. **_

_**Jane Seymour. She was a skilled masqeur. I would love to meet her teacher. She portrayed a woman of innocence and used her demure qualities to stab me in my back, twist the knife, and leave me for dead. From what I understood about her, Henry had no real reason to wed her. Only that he was tiring of me, I consistently failed to deliver him a son, and Jane was my exact opposite. I spoke my mind. She held her tongue. I am often compared to a raven as my dark brunette hair is said to be one of my most becoming features. She is often compared to a dove because of her light blonde hair. My skin is alabaster, but her skin in pale. I did not have to sleep with the King of England to win his heart. She did.**_

_**Henry needed someone submissive and willing. All that I wasn't. He needed someone fresh and untainted by years' worth of love-making. If I were him, I would have chosen Jane as well. She is an easy lay. **_

_**To be divorced by a king is challenging to describe. I can only say that it is like having your heart ripped from your chest and dragged across the stone streets of London on a cold night. **_

_**But to still be loved by the King of England in the aftermath of it all, that is what bewilders me. I do not know what to feel or how to describe that. Henry thought it was a game when it came to my heart. He played with it as if it were a rattle given to an infant. He shook it wildly until it lost all its liveliness and became very dull. That is when he began to realize that he had been wrong. He was sorry and came to me after a year since our divorce to beg my forgiveness. A king as haughty as Henry begging me, the infamous Anne Boleyn, for forgiveness seemed almost an illusion. I did not think he deserved to be forgiven so soon, but I was worn out from all the fighting and misery. I came to terms with the idea that the only way to let go would be to forgive him. And so I did, despite a tentative reluctance pounding in the back of my mind. **_

_**Even now, I do not understand if Henry had been entirely sincere. I do not understand why he took so long to come back to me. I do not understand why he chooses to keep coming back to me every time he declares that he loves me not. I did understand all the familiar feelings, though. His kisses of desperation softened me. I thought about the seemingly endless days of our passion and I felt like my old self with him. I felt appreciated. I felt worthy. I felt LOVED. These feelings perplex me. They are harmful, I know them to be. I do not know if I am to dwell on these feelings or simply dismiss all that has happened between us and move on with Benjamin. I am confused. I do not like to be confused.**_

**END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN**


	15. Elizabeth Breaks Her Promise

Lady Willoughby's teaching methods were relentlessly strict as opposed to Lady Bryan, whose face always reminded little Elizabeth of the stones in the pond. When Henry formally introduced Elizabeth to her new instructor, she already sensed in her heart that she would not enjoy her company. Lady Willoughby was short, plump, and ruddier than cherries.

Her eyes were dark brown-almost black, and round and beady. They were two intimidating orbs of soullessness. Her round cheeks consumed most of her face and her lips were so thin, they stretched to nonexistence when she spoke.

She was the most grotesque figure Elizabeth ever encountered. Though the girl was small in proportions, she was grand in boldness. And at first, she sought ways to rid of Lady Willoughby the monster. But then she remembered her promise to her father. She was to strictly adhere to her tutor's teachings in order that she may become the "true princess of England".

Nothing, not even being the princess of England, was worth having a governess such as Lady Willoughby. Elizabeth sat across from her, her body stiff as Lady Willoughby commanded in a booming voice, "Repeat after me, Elizabeth," her lips were tighter than usual, "Je suis anglaise."

"Je suis anglaise," Elizabeth repeated like a good girl.

"Je m'appelle Elizabeth," Lady Willoughby spoke with a well-practiced French accent.

"Je m'appelle Elizabeth."

"J'ai quatre ans," Lady Willoughby continued.

"J'ai quatra-quato-_quatre_ ans," Elizabeth struggled, wrinkling her face.

She shook her head, knowing that Lady Willoughby looked down on her. She tried her very best to appear as poised and graceful as her four-year-old body could before Lady Willoughby, but learning French was so very drab and bewildering. Not to mention that Elizabeth's interests laid the mouth-watering aroma of delicious baking bread exuding from the kitchen.

Lunch was readily approaching but it wasn't fast enough for Elizabeth. Lady Willoughby was too much of a perfectionist and all this French practice was becoming overbearing. Lady Bryan, though just as stony, had a tad more enthusiasm to her teachings.

Lady Willoughby's booming voice thundered into the air, making Elizabeth nearly topple out of her seat.

"Pay attention," she said, sharply, "The King will be very disappointed in you when he learns that your French has not improved because of your impertinence. Do you want to displease the king?"

She cocked an eyebrow at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head, receiving a satisfied grin from her instructor. She was unaware that she was a victim of manipulation.

"Good, now translate 'Je m'appelle Elizabeth, j'ai quatre ans, et je suis anglaise' in English."

Suppressing an exasperated sigh, Elizabeth translated, "I call myself Elizabeth, I am four years old, and I am English."

Translation was young Elizabeth's forte. Pronunciation was not.

"Excellent, Elizabeth," Lady Willoughby clapped her hands together and stood up, "Now go read your bible until lunch is well and ready."

Her hulking figure left the room, leaving Elizabeth to drop the tiresome façade. As much as Elizabeth wanted to roam the walls of Tudor Castle as she did so very often, she knew that Lady Willoughby was much more of a brute than Lady Bryan. She stood up and went to her room, her Ladies-and-Waiting close behind her. Her thick bible, too heavy for her little arms to lift, was stationed on the windowsill where the light perfectly illuminated the gold-engraved letters on the cover. Elizabeth never read the bible _herself_, as it was in Latin and far beyond the realms of her comprehension. She had her Ladies-in-Waiting take turns reading the scriptures to her, and though the bible rarely made sense to her, she paid attention regardless.

Queen Jane, whom Elizabeth had yet to feel comfortable with, promised a visit from her father next month. This made Elizabeth giddy with anticipation because it seemed that since the marriage to the new Queen of England, he had no time for her.

Elizabeth's mind subtly strayed again as Lady Elena read the third Psalms aloud. Something felt rather wrong as she remembered her fourth birthday. There was some vague significance of her fourth birthday that she couldn't seem to grasp.

Her face wrinkled in deep concentration as the vagueness began to bother her. Her deeply furrowed eyebrows made it appear that she was deeply focused on the Latin scriptures. She sat through that hour, piecing together the vastly scattered puzzle pieces to her fourth birthday….

When lunch was ready, Lady Willoughby burst from the kitchen along with her booming voice, causing Elizabeth to abandon her thoughts quickly and perk up. At last, after what seemed like decades of starvation, lunch was ready.

Lady Elena and the others followed little Elizabeth into the dining room. Lizzie's mouth watered at the sight of diced lamb, fresh loaves of bread which were sliced at the center, assortments of fruits in bowls, and fresh white milk.

A man with a dangly arms shouted, "Make way for the Princess England, make way!"

Elizabeth wanted to stare at the ground, but she had been taught to stare straight ahead and not to make eye contact with any of her superiors as she passed them. She did not like when people bowed before her no matter where she was. Another think that little Elizabeth detested was how everyone stood in the room and watched her eat during her mealtimes.

She understood that she was the princess of England, but need everyone watch her and feed her? She could eat by herself!

Alas, she could not help the King's orders and had to be subjected to the awkward torment. When she was Queen of England, as promised by her father, rest-assured, she would eat alone and undisturbed.

As Elizabeth sipped her milk, Lady Willoughby's voice pierced her ears, though she was only whispering.

_**This is the product of the king and that whore, Boleyn? **_

W-h-o-r-e was a very bad word. Who in particular was Lady Willoughby referring to? Elizabeth dared to find out.

_**I see the resemblance especially in her quality of character. She isn't poised or charming. She is blunt brat, Her only specialty lies with the French language-like her mother. I cannot be the only person who believes that she deserved her humiliation**_. The other Ladies grunted in agreement. _**I recall that Jane Seymour was the king's mistress and lover before she became Queen of England. The irony, Ladies. **_The women grunted once more in agreement, not trying too hard to be discreet.

Elizabeth heard Lady Elena chime in, _**And to think that her mother completely abandoned her. I hear that she has settled a fine deal with the king and is living luxuriously in London in a home as grand as the Hampton Courts, yet she refuses to see her own child. It is a pity, I must say.**_

Elizabeth's heart thudded against her chest. She stopped sipping her milk. They were talking about her **mother**. Elizabeth never heard anyone talk about her mother in that way. She had not seen her mother in almost two years. As the food bearers prepared the pork and bread for Elizabeth, she shut her eyes and tried her very best to call forth the image of her mother.

But try as she would, it was impossible. She had forgotten what her mother looked like. Elizabeth's breathing grew halted and she began to panic. She had truly forgotten her mother.

The whisperings stopped when Elizabeth stood up, the brass chair screeching horribly on the wooden floor.

"Princess Elizabeth," Lady Willoughby said, "Sit down. You haven't eaten yet!"

Elizabeth defiantly ignored her, rushing past her to her room. Before her Ladies-in-Waiting could follow her inside, she slammed the door shut and cried,

"Leave me be! I want to be left alone!"

When the women insisted that she let them in, Elizabeth added, "I command you!"

The women obeyed and Elizabeth listened closely to the sound of their receding footsteps until they completely disappeared.

Once she was sure they were gone, Elizabeth raced for her burgundy bureau and tugged frantically at the bottom drawer. At first, it refused to budge, but she was relentless and tugged more and more until the drawer slipped open and Elizabeth nearly fell to her bum.

Regaining her composure, Elizabeth got down on her knees, not caring if she dirtied her dress, and reached her arm into the deep drawer, her fingers sprawled out as she searched for something.

Hot tears running down her face, Elizabeth exclaimed when her fingers touched cold metal. She grasped it, pulled her arm out, and shut the drawer.

Climbing on to her titanic bed, which was a seemingly arduous task, Elizabeth ran her thumbs across the engraved initials _AB_ as she had done before.

She could not believe it.

She had forgotten her own _**mother**_.

Her voice was faint in her memories, yet Elizabeth could almost her mother calling her name. _Elizabeth, my own heart. _Yes, that it was she would call her.

Warmness rushed through Elizabeth and her nerves were soothed as she pried open the locket. There stood her mother, elegant, lovely, and beautiful as ever. Elizabeth laid back on her bed, staring at the image of her placid-looking mother.

_Promise me, Elizabeth, that you will never forget me and how much I love you._

Elizabeth realized that she had broken that promise in so little time. How could she?

Her body convulsing as she began to sob, Elizabeth whimpered, "I'm sorry, Mummy. I am so sorry, Mummy….I am sorry….I am sorry…."

**END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This chapter was submitted to specifically shed light on Elizabeth's pain as a princess of England without her true Queen, her mother. Please review! The more reviews, the better! Steamier chapters coming pretty soon! ;)


	16. Inquiry

**DOES ANYONE THINK THAT HENRY IS A CHANGED MAN? **

**FIND OUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER**

**YOU**

**WILL**

**NOT**

**BE**

**DISAPPOINTED**

**... :s **

**(nervously)**

**I HOPE**


	17. Undying Lust

"What provoked you to leave so precipitously during the party last night?" Benjamin asked, crushing his teeth into the plum, the juice dribbling down his chin and hand.

Anne thought it unethical to leave the honorary celebration so soon and without giving notice, so she made up for it by inviting Benjamin to her home the very next day for a simple brunch in her garden. This seemed like a romantic gesture to Benjamin, but Anne didn't want the picnic to be too romantic because she was now in a highly problematic predicament. Henry slithered back into her life after a year of anonymity. Anne could not deny that part of her was fatally drawn to him, but she had Benjamin in her life. How utterly insipid would it be to end the seemingly innocuous relationship in order to start a potentially perilous one? Anne's face contorted as she grew deep in thought. She kissed Henry last night. After a year of pain, she kissed the inflictor. It made little sense at all. Anne could not grasp a conclusion as to _why_ she had done that. Henry confused her. He made her body do confusing things. It was her ultimate fatal flaw when it came to being alone with him. It didn't matter how much she tried to fight it, Anne gave in as if her heart where bound with rope and Henry had been the one keeping it within his grasp.

"Anne," Benjamin sensed her detachment, "Something else is on your mind?" he reached out and touched her tentatively, his foreign touch making Anne jolt.

"What?"

"I wanted to know your reason for leaving the event last night? You left discreetly and without warning. If Nan was not there to inform me that you wished to be left alone, I would have had all of England searching for you," Benjamin professed.

Anne held her tongue. She wanted to tell Benjamin that it would be both foolish and futile of him to have England search for her. Everyone hated her as far as she was concerned and people would have danced and spat on her grave if she were dead. At least she reconciled with this. Anne imagined Benjamin's reaction if he learned in detail just how much the people of England resented her even before she was Queen of England. It would hurt him and entrap him in stupor. There were things that he would probably never know about this woman he claimed to love. She neglected to answer his question. She only smiled a special smile-one she used on men to stupefy them.

"Would you prefer that I address you by your formal title as Earl of Winchester or by your legal name?" she asked.

Benjamin, entirely under her influence, replied, "'Benjamin is fine'. I have yet to become accustomed to my new title. My father had to leave for France yesterday. He sends his regrets of not being able to stay longer but his diplomatic affairs carry him across Europe."

She was successful in dismissing the entire subject.

Anne acknowledged Benjamin's words and laid back, ripping a strip of bread from the loaf and dipping it in honey before shoving it in her mouth. Perhaps she was being entirely selfish. Having Benjamin around her was an absolute waste of time seeing as he served no purpose except to provide Anne with the presence of a male being. Nan was relentless in her urges to Anne to marry Benjamin and bless the marriage with many children. Anne knew deep in her heart that she would never do so. Having more children would be a betrayal to Elizabeth. She could never raise all these children knowing that Lizzie was so far away, barely within the vicinity of her grasp. It would be like adultery: the betrayal of love- the betrayal of a promise.

Before Anne could settle deeper into her thoughts, Nan came from inside the home, Lady Bridget behind her.

The two appeared to be very manic. Nan's eyebrows were raised into her hairline and Lady Bridget's blond hair fell out of place from running. Anne could have sensed their distress from a mile away.

"My Ladies," Anne said, sitting up, "What is it?"

Lady Bridget opened her mouth to speak but Nan had already begun.

"Madam, His Majesty the King is here to see you," Nan gave Anne a particular expression. Her entire body language was readable like a book. She was both frightened and angry. She was frightened because the King of England came upon the home without giving notice in order that everything be properly prepared for him and she was angry because she knew in her heart that she would never forgive the king for his harsh and reckless actions against the Marquess, her best friend whom she loved dearly.

Anne raised an eyebrow. She produced a strangely calm reaction. She expected Henry to come to her home. It did not surprise her in the least. Last night, she had been the one to end their hot, fiery kiss, knowing where such levels of intimacies could lead to. She accepted his apology and told him that the two were at last free to move on with their lives. But Anne knew that Henry would only want more. He would not move on. Here he was, at her home, breaching his orders of discontinued relations once more.

She gave a reply that flabbergasted her ladies.

"Tell His Majesty that I am incapacitated and that I regret sending him on his way."

"_**Madame**_?" Lady Bridget asked, appalled. No one ever refused the King! Nobody! She respected the Marquess and hated to disobey her, yet she was fearful of the king's bellicose wrath.

"There will be no need for that."

An all too familiar voice sounded behind Anne. Everyone immediately fumbled and bowed down, whispering, "Your Majesty" to Henry, who indecently did not bother to wait for Anne to receive him into her home. He presumptuously proceeded to enter.

Anne had been the first to look up, challenging Henry with an annoyed glare. She detested when he behaved rudely. It struck her as immature of him to do such things simply because he was the King of England and donned such rights. His morals often fled from him, which was something Anne came to learn long ago.

Benjamin came before Henry, stepping in front of Anne to gain his attention. Ah, a bold action from the new Earl of Winchester at last.

"Your Majesty," he attempted to speak with authority, but the man had yet to master such dominating qualities, "Your visit here is most impromptu. If we were alerted with your desire to come here, we would have been sure to-"

"And who might you be?" Henry asked, his attention now entirely on Benjamin, "Are you the man of this house?"

Benjamin swallowed. He had to be cautious when answering the king, knowing that he and Anne had the most prominent relationship. He was also well aware of the king's quickness to anger.

"No, your Majesty, I'm afraid not. However, I am courting the lady of this household, the Marquess. I aim to become the man of this house very soon, your Majesty."

Anne shut her eyes as if she felt a twinge. _Damn it, Benjamin_. She wished so very much that he was more careful with his words. There was no telling what Henry would do now. The tension in the air grew unbearably deep to the point where Anne felt like someone were sucking the air out of her lungs. Henry focused a certain glare on Benjamin. He examined his features. He was tall and handsome, bearing admirable features. His character and demeanor was something of a weakling. This was not the sort of man Anne would look to. It was absurd. And almost disgusting. Someone had put a claim on the Marquess. _His_ Anne. How dare he? Anne belonged to him. She was _his_. Contempt sultrily whispered into Henry's ears as he continued to glare at Benjamin.

Anne could take no more of the silence between the two.

"Your Majesty," she put on her façade, "I thought visitations were forbidden."

Henry turned from Benjamin to Anne.

"I wish to be alone with Miss Boleyn," Henry said, having other plans for the two, "Leave us to ourselves. Now."

Nan and Lady Bridget left upon command, dragging Benjamin, who was uncertain about leaving Anne alone with the king, with them. He knew his reputation. He heard the stories of the love that once burned between the two. It was rumored that he could end up between a woman's legs with just one glance.

When everyone else had gone from the house, Anne dropped her façade and scowled at Henry.

"How dare you force my ladies and the Earl of Winchester out of my home? The presumptuousness! You are most predictable, Henry," she said, "It does not astonish me, seeing you here. I thought you would be crawling back to me on your hands and knees, desperate for a taste of an old flavor that you find yourself desiring again," she decided to play on his feelings. She watched as his looks darkened.

"Anne," a familiar devilish grin curled on his lips, "Marquess of Pembroke. Your abode is most appealing. The colors are striking and relatively representative of your features. Especially the white walls accompanied by the dark floors. Being inside of your home reminds of being inside of you. Being inside of your walls, navigating to eagerly find what makes your quiver and groan," he caught on rather quickly.

"Your Majesty, you mustn't say such things to me."

"I am only complimenting your gracious home."

They were alone for not too long and here they were, subtly igniting an old passion. Henry went home last night, still feeling Anne's lips against his, still feeling her tongue inside of his mouth, renewing their lust. He still felt her arms wrapped adoringly around his neck as she began to relinquish her love and set it free. Breaking the kiss only made Henry want more of her. He felt drawn to her. He wanted to feel what he felt with her when they were younger all over again. He felt like a brat when it came to her. He simply could not have enough. He had to have it all. And if he didn't he would cause a great uproar. And so, the chase begins.

"You jest with me, Henry," Anne sharply retaliated, "It has been a full year and you still find my bed hot and inviting?" She took one step over to him so that their lips were a breath apart. She could feel him breathing on her face. He breathed deep, labored breaths, under her cogent influence. She could feel how much he wanted her, "Tell me, your Majesty, do you even remember how to please me? Do you remember how I like to make love? Do you remember how I taste? Do you remember how I like to be touched? Or have your skills been limited due to sleeping with your lifeless wife, that pale Seymour queen? Have you become accustomed to the wearisomeness of a comatose lover? One who only lies beneath you, leaving you to create all the pleasure?"

She smirked as Henry's jaw slightly dropped.

"That is the very thing about you, Henry," Anne continued, "There is a certain arrogance that you have taken to because of your rank. You find that because you are the King of England, every woman is sure to rid of their garments and part their legs for you. That is the power that you are addicted to."

"No, Anne," Henry was quick to redeem his calmness and shook his head in denial. "You have it all wrong. I am addicted to _you_."

He grabbed her by her neck and smashed his lips to hers, taking Anne by surprise. She moaned instinctively, realizing that she was enjoying the kiss. The spontaneity of it was sending erotic chills down her spine. She tried to resist, pressing her hands into his shoulders, trying to push him off, but he held her tight.

She moved her lips around until she could sink her teeth into his bottom lip. And she viciously did so.

"Fuck!" Henry cried out, his finger rushing to his lips to check for blood. She did not wound him in the least. His eyes widened in shock at the madness of what she just did to him. "You fucking bit me, Anne."

"It doesn't matter that I bit you. You cannot kiss a woman forcefully," Anne angrily said, wiping her mouth, "And you will not have me."

Henry, his breathing still shallow, brushed off Anne's words. He grabbed her by the waist and palmed across her hips, gently squeezing her arse, as he had done on several occasions.

"I shall, Anne," he insisted, "I shall have you." He glanced down at her breasts, which rose and fell as her chest heaved in the heat of the moment. They nearly popped out of her tight bodice. He could feel himself growing aroused and hardening as he realized he wanted to take her right in the garden.

He intertwined his fingers with her dark locks and returned to her lips, whispering, "You are mine. All mine," his mind was ready to burst as he kissed her hotly, wildly aware that he wanted to kiss her all over. He wanted her body, he wanted to make to love her, he wanted to devour her, "We are going to make love. And you will enjoy it."

"Says who?" Anne challenged, breaking the kiss, "Says Henry Tudor?" She breathed sharply as his hands continued to roam her bum

"Says the King of England," Henry slyly responded. He squeezed her firm arse.

It was that familiar lewd arrogance that made Anne breathless. His confidence aroused her. His arrogance made her quiver. As much as she hated how haughty Henry was, it was one of the things that made her knees buckle.

He was a married man. He was the King of England, it was all so very wrong. Some small, brittle voice in the back of Anne's mind tried its very best to reason with her. But damn there was the devil that stood on her shoulder, enticing her to continue. It did not matter when he had been married to Katherine, right? They had kissed and performed such acts on each other and never once did she hesitate to do such things. So why hesitate now? It would be a fine way to exact revenge on that Seymour whore. It meant little to Jane when she slyly became Henry's new lover. Anne could think of no better way teach her a lesson on stealing others' prized possessions. Not to mention that after a year of inactivity, she sought immediate release. She deserved, it after all. So she gave heed to the devil and gave in.

Anne shut her eyes and granted Henry access to the inside of her mouth as she challenged him to a tongue melee. She could feel the familiar heat rising between them. Henry drew his arms around her waist and pressed her hips tightly to his, groaning into her mouth.

"I will take you here, Anne," Henry insisted , his fingers fumbling with the labyrinth of strings that bound her bodice. He was being entirely serious. It mattered nothing to him that they were out in the garden. If he had to, he would take her in the carriage that he arrived in. He suffered a year without her. Without her desirable presence. He had been so sure that Jane would wipe away all the memories of Anne but it only furthered them . She was such a carnal lover compared to his wife. Jane was shy and giggled more often than moaned. But Anne…even during their first union had given it her all and did not hesitate to express her lust. She made him feel wild and crazy-like every limb on his body was being pulled at once and there was no possible escape until it was all over. It was maddening, yet a splendid feeling of delirium.

"Oh, your Majesty," Anne's eyes rolled up into her head as he took to her neck, "Mmm, Henry," she softly gasped, "We can't. Not here."

"No of course not," Henry agreed, "Where is your room?"

"Three stories above," Anne replied, losing herself entirely.

"Too far," Henry decided, triumphantly exhaling as he freed her from her top. He wanted to be inside of her this very instant. He was bursting and walking up three flights would be torturous murder. His hands skimmed across her warm, soft back, releasing a sigh of bliss as her body reacted to his touch.

"There is a guest room," Anne informed him, gasping as he lifted her to his waist and locked her ankles around him, "North of us. Across from the sun room. There is a bed of substantial size."

When they reached the room, Henry laid her on the bed, and quickly removed her cream-colored corset, unveiling her splendid breasts. Her nipples were bright and pink and irresistible. He growled like a hungry tiger before leaning in for a taste. Anne clutched his hair and pressed her head into the pillow, moaning out loud. His tongue darted and flicked over her nipple, gripping her other breast with his hand and smoothly massaging it.

Anne arms reached out to undo his vest with her nimble fingers. Opening it and sliding it off his shoulders, her hands palmed every muscle on Henry's fine, taught torso. His body was like genuine stone. A marble statue carved to perfection. There were a few scars and nicks from his jousting escapades, but those things meant nothing to Anne. She was burning on the inside.

She decided that she would hold the dominant position. Hastily sitting up, she rolled him over and secured him under her body by gripping his waist with her thighs. She watched Henry's eyes on her body as she removed the pearl pin that held her hair together, letting her dark brunette waves ripple down her body. She smiled as he watched her in awe. Anne would always render Henry in awe of her beauty. Her smile darkened as she realized that Henry's body looked delicious against the bright red satin sheets.

"I have missed you, Henry," Anne admitted, a hint of mischief on her face, "I have not loved another or thought of loving another, your Majesty. My body has gone untouched for so long…." She looked down, her voice trailing off.

She spoke with her body as her fingers danced around the brim of his pants. Part of her was nervous. She had years of experience with Henry, but she did not make love to him in over a year and she wasn't sure what he expected. She trusted her instincts and let the past guide her.

She ran her tongue over her lip as she delicately removed every single string. Henry did not even realize that he was holding his breath until he choked out a sob when he felt her warm caress.

Hearing him react to her touch restored confidence to Anne. She knowingly bit her sweet pink lips and patiently stroked his hard member, eliciting moans of complete pleasure from His Majesty's lips. This time, he wasn't the King of England. He wasn't Henry Tudor. He was her subject, her slave. He was under her control, submissive to her every command and stroke. He was all hers. Not Jane's. Queen Jane of England's very husband was subject to her pleasure, subject to his divorced wife. Anne wished in her heart that Jane could witness what she was doing to him. It would destroy her. It would be the death of her. She could not handle such explicit nature.

Anne applied more pressure, watching Henry's face contort in pleasure. His head occasionally rose from the pillow and unhindered groans escaped his throat each time his lips parted.

The image of her blurred to darkness as Henry shut his eyes, finally relaxing his head against the pillow. He could not believe that Anne was truly above him, inflicting such pleasure upon him as he felt her hand thrusting in a corkscrew motion. She created such unprecedented pleasures.

But more than that, she was the missing puzzle piece to his dilemma. She was the reason he was making the same decisions all over again. She sucked all the rationalization from him, making all the senseless things make sense. But in the midst of all the confusion, Henry was sure of one thing. He wanted to have all of Anne and he did not want to share her with anyone. He still loved her. He never stopped. She still made him feel insane, like when he grew impassioned by her when they began courting in their earlier years of love. He was not making sense. His thoughts fled from him as an unexpected fervency took over his member.

"Christ, Anne!"

She tightened her grasp on his adamant hardness and lengthened her strokes, forcing out gasps and groans from His Majesty's lips. This must have been the feeling Henry experienced on endless occasions when he made women writhe beneath him in unbridled pleasure. For a moment, she understood his appetencies. It was the thrill of having power over the other. And Henry was always on a constant craze for more power.

The center of Henry's chest reddened as if fire were burning inside of him. He found the will to raise his head from the pillow to catch sight of Anne. He could see her arm jerking perpetually as she pumped him intently. Her breasts jumped and swayed as she thrust. A sight so remarkable, it made Henry moan. And when he did, Anne raised her blue eyes to his, now slowly hindering her pace. Her eyes darkened.

"Your Majesty," she calls sultrily, sending chills down Henry's spine. This was the Anne he knew.

He watched her back from the bed and stand on her feet. Their eyes fixed on each other, Henry watched Anne remove the remnants of her clothing. Her cream-coloured skirt pooled at her feet shortly followed by her white shorts.

Anne stood for a moment, allowing Henry eyes to roam her body. She wanted him to drink in her image. She wanted him to remember exactly _who_ it was that was standing before him. Henry did so, nearly salivating at her naked glory. Her body was majestic, something worthy of worship. Her soft, saintly porcelain skin glowed when she was nude. Her dark brunette cascades rippled down to her hips. Henry stared, both the awe and animalism in him growing intensely as Anne climbed over him.

Their lips crushed each other as they kissed wildly, gripping whatever they could. Anne was taken by surprise when Henry threw her on her back. He quickly grabbed her wrists and held them with one hand, drawing them over her head and pressing them into the nitzy satin sheets. The heat between the two calmed for a moment as Henry paused to stare into those endearing, beautiful blue eyes of hers.

He smiled strangely at her, muttering words of utter nonsense to himself as he leaned in for a taste of her breasts.

"Ooh," Anne exhaled as Henry circled his tongue around her soft pink nipple. She reached out to intertwine her fingers with his hair as he pleased her. He continued to suck at her breasts, his left hand keeping her arms above her head, his right hand slipping inside of her warmth.

"Henry," Anne hissed in response, "Oh, god."

Now it was her turn to be pleased. Henry latched on to her breast, shutting his eyes every now and then to savour the senses.

"I have waited for this, Anne," he spoke, thrusting his hand in and out of her as his thumb stimulated her clit, "Your body is like a smorgasbord of ambrosia. You shall be devoured most appropriately." Anne whimpered out involuntarily as his words caused heavy accumulation between her legs. Her eyebrows danced to the rhythm of his hands. They were very talented hands, working inside and out to bring Anne to an entirely new realm of euphoria. Her hips moved in a circular motion as Henry's devilish fingers read her like a book. He was granted admission to her very core.

"Do not stop, Henry," Anne whimpered. She sought immediate release. She could not take the heavy petting any longer. She demandingly raised her hips . She wanted him directly now. She missed the feeling of a man's hands on her body. She missed the feeling of **Henry's** hands on her body. Henry's fingers stopped moving and he slowly removed his hand.

Their bodies melded together as Henry climbed over her, whispering something entirely incoherent before sliding into her.

He could insist that he changed as a lover all that he wanted. The truth was that he hadn't. No matter how often he had tried to make passionate, slow love to Anne, her every move aroused him. It made him grow wild and animalistic. And he could not control himself. She made him act irrationally. It was no excuse. It was an undeniable fact.

"God, Anne," He croaked, thrusting deep inside her. He became bound by her ankles as she locked them around his waist, and rested her hands on his back where she could feel his muscles tensing and releasing with each thrust. Henry was readily losing himself. He eagerly complied when Anne beckoned him to hasten his pace.

"Hurry, Henry!" Anne cried as he thrust deeper into her walls, "**_Hurry_**!"

Henry released a guttural grunt as Anne came, watching as she threw her head back and released a shrill whine. He came instantly, pounding into her until he filled her completely with his hot seed. Anne held him tight, her body convulsing from the radical pleasure. She shut her eyes tight, all of reality flowing through her.

She had just slept with the King of England, her divorced husband.

**END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So this chapter took forever for me to write basically because I was quite tentative about approaching the sex scene. I haven't written a sex scene in twelve trillion years so I'm a bit out of practice. The sex may seem random, but I included it to illustrate how time will never be able to change how Anne and Henry gravitate towards each other. I wanted to show that their lust bond was still strong. Expect the next chapter quite soon. Will not be taking as long as this one did. Review please! I'd love to see your opinions. **

**-Jace**


	18. Here is the Truth!

"Goodness, Anne," Henry panted, burying his head deep into the crook of her neck.

He thrust a few more times just to revel in the moment. He had almost been afraid to learn that it had been a dream. He relaxed against Anne as she drew her hands around him, the two breathing in awe of the incomparable burst of pleasure they just shared. He blew hot wisps of air on to her, making her grin as she began to run her fingers though his wet hair.

"Oh, your Majesty, don't fall asleep. Surely, you haven't exhausted yourself to such degrees. Love making has not become a _challenge_ for _you_, has it?" Anne teased, "For that is unheard of from the King of England. You make lovers out of the dead, Henry." She smiled gently at the intimacy they were sharing.

A throaty chuckle escaped Henry's throat. He appreciated her subtle hint that she enjoyed everything that just happened between them. He sat up, pulling himself out of her warm walls and laid beside her.

"I am not exhausted, Anne," he said, "Only in awe. You have proven to be a skilled lover, unhindered by a year of inactivity."

He hissed as Anne slapped him.

"And for what reason did you do that?" he demanded, his hand rushing to the burning flesh on his face.

"For ever doubting me," Anne replied. The gentle anger in her chilled. Her voice softened, "And for taking so long to come back."

Henry relaxed himself and fixed a frown on his face. He reached out to stroke her brunette cascade. Some stray wisps of hair adhered to her moist, soft face so he patiently cleared every single strand away. Something he had always done after they made love. His endearing touch made Anne shut her eyes and sigh into his caress. His soothing touch brought back bittersweet memories. When he touched her like this, it reminded her of when they were married.

"You are so beautiful, Anne," Henry spoke with touching passion, "I am not sure if I have expressed that on enough occasions," he continued to clear the wisps, "Even after all these years, your beauty remains captivating. You look like the same Anne I met all those years ago," he smiled tenderly at her.

"I **_am_** the same Anne you met all those years ago. My heart has not changed. But you carelessly scarred it so often, it is afraid to love again. Afraid to _feel_," Anne's fingers moved to his chest where his heart beat steadily and stroked him, "How is my heart to believe once more?"

"You ought to remarry," Henry tentatively confessed, "Even though no one else deserves you."

He meant that with all his heart. No one else deserved Anne more than he did. No one else could ever love her more than he did. Even if he poorly conveyed this, he had known it in his very heart. Some things made little sense to him at all, but this, his love for Anne was the most coherent thing he had ever known.

Anne licked her lips, "Marriage. It seems like an unrelenting commitment to consider granted what it has done to us. Given what is has done to Elizabeth."

Heartache broiled in Anne's soul. Her darling Elizabeth. The last time she laid eyes on her daughter, she was sobbing violently, begging her to come back. Who could ever keep their back to their child mourning their soul, beseeching their own mother to stay forever? Who could ever live with their self knowing that their child cries for them everyday? What if Elizabeth had taken her words for utter hatred? What if she grew to detest her own mother? What if time had gotten the best of her and she would grow up to forget her and remember Jane as her mama? Anne shook her head and gently cried.

"She is so young, Henry. Her birthday has just passed and I have never ceased to think of her. Tell me she is alright, please."

Henry pressed his lips together with guilt, knowing that this had been his fault. He sighed deeply, shaking his head with remorse. He tried to deliver his words without giving her anger.

"She mourns for you, Anne," he confessed, "Every day, Elizabeth mourns for you since the day of your arrest. I am desperate to quell her sorrows-"

"But you were more desperate to get rid of me," Anne interjected, "Never once did you even consider what it would do to Lizzie. You cannot tear a mother from their child, Henry. That is a bond that is indestructible. It may have been easy with Katherine, as she was submissive and desperate to please you, but it will never be that way between Elizabeth and I. What explanation have you given our daughter concerning my removal as Queen of England? Have you told her the truth? Or another brilliant lie?"

"Anne why do you lash at me so quickly?!" Henry asked, "Every moment I try to be sincere, you retaliate with anger! You refuse to let me grow closer to you! You _have_ forgiven me, have you not?"

"I have."

"Then why are you still angry!?"

"_Because_," Anne retorted, "To forgive one is simple, but to forget, that is the more daunting half."

"I have not even forgiven myself, Anne. Nor have I forgotten all of the things that I have done. But I have changed, Anne," Henry insisted, the desperation in his voice painful to digest, "I have _changed_, you will see."

"I will be damned if you have changed, Henry," Anne challenged, "You are the King of England in the face of the others, but to me, you will always be Henry, the man who crawls back to me no matter how often he claims to love me not! You are a splendid lover, I must confess. You can please in a way I doubt anyone ever can. But outside of that, you will always be the same lying, cheating bastard."

Henry's conduct transformed as Anne spat words of fire to him.

He growled with disapproval and climbed over her, grabbing her wrists and holding them hard above her head, pressing them deep into the satin sheets.

"Enough of you!" he commanded, "I am the King of England to the world and to you, Anne. Never forget that. I am the one who started this and ended this. You cannot see into one's heart without them allowing you to, so do not presume to know my true character. I have changed and you will lay here and learn!" he crushed his lips to hers, receiving a grunt of reproach from her. He did not care. Anne would learn the truth one way or another, "Now you listen to me, Anne. Since the very moment I removed you from your title as Queen of England, I was unforgivably burdened with regret. I had brought hurt upon my daughter whom I love unconditionally. To see Elizabeth overwrought with misery at the loss of her mother is most difficult for me to see. For a moment, she believed that you were dead when she had fallen terribly ill. The thought of losing you in the flesh makes me quiver, Anne. To lose you would be the greatest pain I could ever feel. It would be a feeling no other man could ever comprehend," Henry watched as tears swelled up in her blue eyes, "I feared for so long that I would never see you again and here you are in my arms. Jane was a mistake, that I wholeheartedly confess. My arrogance has gotten the best of me and I thought that marrying her would erase all the memories of you, but it only brought me pain. This is truth, Anne. I love you even though you make me so angry at times I wish to take someone's life. I have never stopped loving you," he pressed his lips to hers again, more softly, "And you should know that. You have humbled me in ways I do not even understand myself."

Anne held her breath as the feeling of truth flowing from Henry's lips made her choke up. She swallowed gently and tried to wriggle her way out of Henry's grip but he tightened his hold on her and pressed her wrists deeper into the sheets.

He leaned in again, his breath against her face and dipped his tongue into her mouth, "You drive me mad, Anne," he released her arms at last and slipped his hands beneath her back, bringing her above him, "And being here with you means so much to me," he took hold of her waist and ground himself inside of her heat, burning with the rekindled fire of lust, "I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want to make love to you over and over again," his passionate words made Anne whimper as she began to gradually ride him, "I care not that I am married and I know very much that you feel the same."

"Yes," Anne croaked out, her arms resting on his bulging pecs as she continued to move. She breathed intensely, "Yes, I do, your Majesty." Her brunette cascade began to bounce like the waves in the Thames as she gave in once more to lust. Her tears were long gone and her cries were now out of passion. Their bodies fed off of one another as they began to wildly attack each other once more. Henry reached out and grabbed her soft creamy breasts, massaging them in his hands and smiling with satisfaction as he made her cry out his name. Everything about her body was beautiful. She was a naked angel in effulgent glory. She was his. All his. And Henry made it his duty to sustain his possession over her. She shut her azure eyes and threw her head back as she came down harder, proclaiming that she was fairly close.

"Anne," called, "Come for me, my love," he growled excitedly, "**Come** for me, Anne," he kept his warm hands on her waist, quietly taking note of which rhythms she preferred over the others.

Her body crashed down on him like lightning and she came, giving off a final whine of bliss and fell back, gasping for air.

She felt Henry watching her as she fought to reclaim her scattered rationality. He was such a lewd sneak. Christ, he slipped into her so easily without waiting for her to consent and pumped all this euphoria into her core. She giggled to herself before sitting up to speak.

"Oh, Henry," she breathed, "I still love you, even if I have absolutely no reason to. We are a strange pair, don't you think?"

Henry released a light chuckle, "You have very good reason to love me, Anne. _Very_ good reason. And we are a strange pair. That is why I long to keep you," he pulled her warm alabaster body to his and their legs intertwined. "Anne...it is a long and tiresome journey back to Tudor House. I would like to stay with you a good while longer."

"Hmm," Anne was quick to refuse him, "I'm afraid I must contradict you, Henry. You can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"Every passerby will be quick to recognize your royal carriage in front my my home. And they will wait to see how long it is before you leave, trust me, your Majesty. When they see that you have left after a few nights they will know right away. You know it, too, Henry. You must go to an inn or to a friend's home but you can't stay here."

Henry sighed a sigh of disappointment, "Yes, of course, you are right," he would not want rumours to pervade the town about the Marquess. Henry understood how pristine she wanted to keep her reputation. He would not want to hurt her in any way.

"You can stay at Sir. Brendon's home. We visited him once, you may remember," Anne watched him nod.

"You are so eager to rid of me, Anne."

"No," Anne insistently shook her head, "Only longing to have you forever."

**END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

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******AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hope all of you enjoyed this chapter. I actually had fun with it xD So, who thinks that Anne and Henry will certainly end up together? And will Anne and Elizabeth be reunited after a strenuous separation? You will find out quite soon if you give me those much-wanted reviews! Express your opinions- good and bad! :D  
**

**-Jace  
**

**P.S. : You can request any scenes between Anne and Henry. I may include them if they fall in line with the direction that this fanfiction is taking  
**


	19. An Uncomfortable Dinner

Dinner would be a very uncomfortable event tonight. Henry had already been deteriorated on the inside from the brutally long travel from Anne's tempting abode back to Greenwich Palace. He had promised to invite his daughter back to court and to have her stay for dinner. Freshly, she was well-mannered and courteous and he could think of no better way to acknowledge his daughter's fine advancement than to commend her personally over dinner. Henry sat himself at the very end of the long dark table, waiting for his wife and daughter to arrive. He tapped his fingers in a rhythm similar to that of the gentle harp playing exclusively in by the crackling fireplace. He arrived for the dinner rather early, but that would give him time to clear his intensely lewd and nebulous mind. He could think of none other than his once-more possessed Anne Boleyn. The lust he contained for her. A lust he thought would never be rekindled. Though he loved and missed his daughter, the longer Henry thought of Anne, the deeper the urge grew for him to return to her home and ravish her once more. It was an addictive, uncontrollable urge.

He shut his eyes.

Her body. Alabaster. Porcelain. Gratifying. Her body, white and cottony attuned to his when they make love. It was her body that spoke to him, desired him, tempted him, and _humbled_ him. Her pretty pink lips that parted and sultrily moaned out his name when he journeyed between her walls. Her deep blue eyes that darkened to near-black when she wanted him and brightened to near-grey when he brought her to such heights. Her infinite dark waterfall of hair that bounced like the waves in the Thames on a viciously stormy day when she had taken over him. Her hands that pressed into his skin when he thrust. And her legs that bound him and held him prisoner when she climaxed. And in the end, when their bodies were damp and spent, she had always instilled in him a great sense of accomplishment. But more than that, she rendered him in need of more. He would always want more.

"**Her Majesty the Queen, and Princess Elizabeth of England**," an uninviting voice made Henry jolt.

He corrected his posture and breathed to calm himself, hopelessly forcing those dark thoughts from his mind.

He glanced up and saw his wife and daughter enter the dimly-lit room. Henry warmly smiled at his saintly daughter who was draped in a bright pink grown with large pearls plaited into her golden-red hair. Jane and Elizabeth paused to respectfully bow before Henry, whispering _**your** **Majesty**_. Elizabeth did not waste a moment of oxygen before exclaiming with glee and rushing to her father's embrace.

"Oh, my Papa," she smiled, kissing Henry on his nose, "I have missed you."

"My Elizabeth," Henry chortled, kissing her back, "I have missed you more," he kissed her again and tickled her, making her wriggle in amusement, "I presume you have been practicing your French?" he fixed a stern look on his face.

"Oui, majeste," Elizabeth expertly replied, "Et j'ai faim."

"And you have been reading your bible?"

"'Honour your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the lord your God is giving you,' Exodus chapter twenty verse twelve," Elizabeth brilliantly retorted.

"You are a child of great brilliance," Henry told her, most impressed, "I am very pleased with you, Elizabeth," he kissed her temple.

"Thank you, Papa," Elizabeth beamed.

"She is the perfect epitome of what every daughter of England should be," Jane interjected, reminding Henry of her presence.

He did his best not to stiffen up. He breathed softly and turned his attention to his wife. He masked himself with an artificial a few moments, he had forgotten that he had a wife. He had forgotten that he was lawfully bound to Jane and that he was obliged to her.

"Ah, my Queen," he said, taking her hands in his, "I am grateful that you could come."

"I hope we have not kept you long," Jane spoke in her usual gentle manner, "I see that you have been waiting, your Majesty."

"Not at all."

They then took their places at the table, Jane sitting at his right and Elizabeth to his left. Words at first had not been spoken and the strangeness in the air was overbearing. When the food was brought out and placed on the table, Elizabeth began to shudder at the idea of her stomach bursting from trying to eat every bit of food to its last morsel. The table was quickly covered with various fruits and meats and bread and wines. How could three people swallow so much? It was excess. And gluttony. She bit her bottom lip. She wanted very much to tell her father about Lady Willoughby and her snide remarks about her mother. She wanted to tell her father all the things she said- _especially_ that she had called her mother a whore. But Queen Jane, whom Elizabeth recently decided not to like, was in her presence. And she would not dare talk about the former Queen of England in front of her. It simply felt wrong.

Instead, she kept her mouth shut and sat there, her hands buried deep in her lap, and stared at the neatly sliced potatoes on her plate.

Everyone began to eat in complete silence, not breathing a single word to each other. Elizabeth certainly did not want to talk. And Henry was in no particular mood to engage himself in a conversation with his wife. Jane sighed, chafed by the lack of communication. She needed to speak to Henry about something she became very aware of in these recent days.

"Your Majesty," Jane spoke, reaching out to grasp Henry's hand, "Is all well?"

Henry turned slowly towards his wife, whose eyes were wide with inquiry.

"Yes," he nodded, "All is very well, Jane."

_Things could not be better._

Jane sighed and glanced towards Elizabeth who sat across from her in a very detached fashion. She lowered her voice, not wanting to involve the Princess, and leaned in to Henry. "You have not visited my bed for an extension of time, Henry. I wish so very much to give you a son but I cannot do so if you do not accompany me," she raised a blonde, concerned eyebrow, "Is there something wrong, my love?"

"No, darling," Henry shook his head, speaking in an equal tone to hers, "Everything is as it should be. You have absolutely no reason to worry."

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but I am afraid that my bed has grown cold to you. And so very soon."

_It is **very** cold, Jane._

"Do not mistake my constant diplomatic errands for disinterest in you bed. For I promise you, it is anything but."

Henry smiled tenderly at her.

It was the sort of smile that forces you to smile back.

He was a brilliant masquer, having been an apprentice of deceit since he was eighteen when he ascended to the throne shortly after his father's death. He fooled many and all, except for Anne who sometimes saw right through his fibs. But Jane was gullible, much to his advantage. She would believe every lie that came out of her mouth. Whether they were follies or simply guile. He was entirely successful in assuaging her worries.

Henry shoved a strip of bread into his mouth and turned to his daughter, whom he noticed sat very glumly at the table. She was giddy with glee only moments ago.

"Sweetheart," he called, softly, "Elizabeth, my daughter."

Realizing that he father was talking to her, Elizabeth looked up, "Yes, Papa?"

"You are being so quiet," Henry said, "And you appear to be so unhappy. What is it, my princess?"

Elizabeth could feel her heart cringe and that familiar line formed between her eyebrows. Her lips remained tightly shut but her words were ready to burst from the inside. Henry knew that look. He had seen it far too often for the same reasons over and over again. _**Not again,**_** Elizabeth**.

"Papa, it is nothing," his daughter insisted. She was poor liar.

"Then why do you sulk?" Henry asked, "Tell me right now."

Elizabeth sighed heavily. It was a command not just from her father, but the King of England. She did not want to say it but she had no choice but to obey her father's order.

"Well, three days ago during lunchtime, I heard Lady Willoughby call Mama- I mean, um..." Elizabeth bit her lip and turned very red. What was she to call her mother in the very presence of the Queen of England? Her throat became parched as she glanced nervously at Jane.

"You may refer to her as 'Mama', Elizabeth," Henry affirmed, "She **is** your mother after all," he admired his daughter's courage to speak the truth even when she did not want to.

Jane looked to Henry in shock, widening her eyes. **_But you hate Anne_ Boleyn** she wanted to say. The sound of her name made her feel uneasy. And the fact that Henry, who once spoke with distaste about her, had allowed it was even more disquieting.

Elizabeth, smiled, nodded, and continued, "She called Mama a very bad word."

"A bad word?" Henry raised an eyebrow, "What bad word? Here, show me."

He faced his palm upward and Elizabeth sat up and spelled the word W-H-O-R-E in the palm of his hand with her index finger. It was a secret form of communication that the two developed should Elizabeth wish to tell her father something urgent and private in a crowded room. Henry's face reddened when he had seen what Elizabeth wrote. He was not surprised. He was accustomed to the vulgar language people used against Anne. Once during a sermon, a priest violently shouted that Anne was a whore in presence of Henry himself and condemned him for his actions. But to say such a thing in front of his daughter was entirely inexcusable.

"Ah, yes. _That_ bad word. And Lady Willoughby said that about your mother in front of _you_?"

"Yes, Papa. And I was very hurt," Elizabeth said, her blue/green eyes evident with sincere pain, "Because I realized that I had forgotten Mama. I could not remember her face or her voice. But the locket, Papa. The locket helped me to remember her." Elizabeth remembered how miserable she had been that entire day.

"If I may intervene," Jane interjected, "Elizabeth, perhaps you misheard Lady Willoughby. Perhaps she spoke of another," she hadn't even known what Lady Willoughby said about Anne, but she knew it was something bad, "Perhaps she did not say such a thing at all."

"She spoke of my **mother**," Elizabeth insisted, "I know it, Papa."

Henry raised a hand and hushed his daughter.

"You need not speak of this any longer," he said, "I will handle this right away, I promise, sweetheart." That made Elizabeth smile. "I am sure you want me to replace your governess."

"Yes, Papa. Someone much nicer than Lady Willoughby. And someone prettier than Lady Willoughby. Her face is frightening."

Henry gently chuckled at his daughter's relentless insistence, but vowed to fulfill his promise. This would be her third governess. Why couldn't these women keep their damn mouths shut and perform their job without voicing their opinions? Could anything ever be simple for the King of England? He only wanted the best for his daughter, and even that came with a challenge.

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Papa, what is a 'mistress'? I heard Lady Willoughby say that Jane was your mistress before she replaced the other Queen."

The entire room now stiffened up. The knife clattered on the wooden table as Henry, his cheeks round and full, stared in shock at his daughter. He swallowed a very large gulp of meat and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I was _not_ the King's mistress," Jane protested.

"But what is a mistress, your Highness?" Elizabeth asked her.

Jane was quick to avert the question by sipping her wine.

"Why do you ask, Elizabeth?" Henry demanded.

"I only want to know because Lady Elena said that kings take mistresses to replace their queens. And if I am to be married, I would not want to be replaced by another woman just like Jane replaced Mama."

"Elizabeth, do not be absurd," Jane said, "That is not true at all."

But Elizabeth was persistent.

"Papa, do _you_ have any mistresses?"

_Yes, Elizabeth. Your mother is my mistress_.

"Elizabeth, hush! Such questioning is inappropriate. Eat your dinner and speak no more of the subject. Is that understood?" Henry ordered, sharply.

The subject seemed so simple to young, naive Elizabeth. But it was far more complicated that she would probably ever know. She was hurt and offended by her father's sudden rage against her. She felt her cheeks redden and her eyes watered, but she dared not burst into tears. She only nodded in compliance and shoved a warm potato into her mouth. She did not understand what she had done wrong. But she knew that she wanted her mother. And she wanted her very badly.

**END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN**


	20. Come to Court

Autumn surreptitiously shivered its way into wintertime uninvitingly flourishing London's streets with fluffy white snow and England's once-orange fields with silvery frost. Wintertime put everyone in a garrulous mood. Especially on such a morning as golden and vibrant as this. The Marquess of Pembroke's home was especially buoyant as Anne's Ladies-in-Waiting gossiped quietly amongst preparations. They worked as daintily as possible as the Marquess made it most certain that she did not want anything irking her and she was to remain undisturbed. Yet, the afternoon was readily approaching and the Marquess produced no signs of life from her large room three floors above their heads. The women did not fret, though. Such instances were rare, and they decided to abide by the Marquess' orders and leave her to herself. They readily used this opportunity to gossip and exchange information concerning recent events.

"The Earl of Winchester did not stay the night when His Majesty came. He left and did not return," Lady Prescott, an older woman who had temporarily served in the Boleyn household some years ago, spoke "Is that not strange?" She raised a curious eyebrow to Nan, who meticulously twirled and arranged the flowers in the crème porcelain vase.

It was no secret to all the Ladies in the house that Nan and the Marquess sustained a deeply-rooted relationship. And within that relationship resided much secrets and scandalous information. So should any of the Ladies grow curious as to what happened behind closed doors, Nan was an available source. But Nan herself never broke the standard and courteous rules of friendship, irrespective of the perpetual jeering, and she refused to let anyone or anything breach the loyalty she had towards Anne. She had come up with enough answers to deflect their nitpicking to the point where it had come naturally to her.

"The Earl of Winchester and the Marquess of Pembroke are not married, so it would be rather inappropriate for a man to stay the night," Nan professed, taking refuge in the warmth of the sunlight seeping through the towering windows, "It is common etiquette and the Marquess knows such things most. She was the Queen of England, in all respect."

"Yes, but the Earl of Winchester left so soon and His Majesty nearly stayed the entire half of the day," Lady Prescott continued, a dark and mischievous grin on her long face.

Nan sighed.

She would not deny that she found the King of England's sudden visit untimely and strange. And the fact that he excused everyone from the home and stayed for many hours was somewhat unnerving. But she knew that Anne had known better. She was most sure that Anne had given the King of England a good talking to and sent him on his way. Lady Prescott had already revealed herself as the gossip of all the Ladies since her first day under the commission of Lady-in-Waiting to the Marquess. She had such a hankering for drama and trouble, it was almost pathetic. Especially for a woman of her age, as she was the oldest- older than Nan herself. She liked her least of all, and thought that she was better off serving Jane. Much like Her Majesty, she was a pretentious leech.

Lady Bridget entered the dining room with a silver tray of freshly baked bread with spice, eggs, and berries. She set the tray on the long wooden table and frowned when she realized the Marquess' absence. She looked to Lady Prescott.

"Madame Anne did not yet wake?"

She was deeply disappointed because she was most willing to please Anne, as she revered her greatly, and anticipated the look of glee on the Marquess' face when she the delicious, mouth-watering meal. But the table was vacant. There was no Anne.

"Apparently not," Lady Prescott spoke to Lady Bridget in a nauseatingly high, prissy, holier-than-thou tone, "And I believe that whatever exertions she engaged in with His Majesty yesterday rendered her completely spent with somnolence. No doubt. The way His Majesty was staring at her, something far more lewd than a 'conversation' occurred."

Lady Bridget's big brown eyes widened and her hand clasped her chest.

"**My **_**Lady**_!" she shook her head with adamant disapproval, "Ah, mon Dieu, mon Dieu. Lady Prescott, you should not speak of the Marquess with such scorn! How dare you?"

"Oh, stop this, Lady Bridget," Lady Prescott cared not that she was being rude, "You are so very young. You wouldn't want to hurt that little throat of yours with that shouting."

Nan stepped in, getting between the two, "Now hush!" she commanded with serious authority, "Have respect for the Marquess. Anne would never resort to such promiscuity and she most certainly would not appreciate waking up to such fiendish remarks. Lady Prescott, you must remember why you are here. You are here to serve the Marquess. Not to have opinions. They are most irrelevant and should be kept to yourself. Not only will you not act with impudence upon the Marquess, you will also treat your both your betters and lowers as an equal. You have made it most clear that age does not affect maturity."

She shot daggers at Lady Prescott so sharp, they ought to have pierced her. And they did. Lady Prescott cowered away at the fire in Nan's words and lowered her head, not bothering to apologize. And would she, seeing as she wouldn't truly be sorry.

Unmistakable, dignified steps sounded on the staircase and all the Ladies looked to see the Marquess walking down the stairs, covered in a green silk robe with blue embroidery. Lady Prescott's cheeks reddened further when Anne's presence choked her up.

"Marquess," they all said, curtsying.

Anne nodded and smiled at her breakfast, which was beautifully crafted. She was resting in her chambers for quite a long time. She needed as much rest as possible to replenish all the sleep she had lost with Henry. She regretted to heart sending him away as she wanted to spend the entire day with him, but she had known better than to keep him in her company for too long. Everyone was already suspicious, Anne knew. But she didn't want the suspicions to blossom into rumours.

She took her place in her chair and commented, "Lady Bridget. This looks very fine. Fit for a Queen," she punned.

"Thank you," Lady Bridget smiled, "With Barron's permission, I prepared the bread myself. In the French, fashion, Madame."

Anne could see. She took a a piece of bread and brought it to her lips, relishing in the flavour.

Nan watched her with caution. She hated to admit that Lady Prescott's words set a level of skepticism in her.

"Anne," she called, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, why?"

"I am only worried, Madam. I understand that your desire was to be left alone but you stayed in your room for most of this day," Nan explained, "Has his Majesty's visit affected you?"

Anne reached out and grasped the goblet of wine, sipping thoroughly to stop her cheeks from flushing. She would not speak of Henry to Nan in front of the other Ladies. She resolved to omit some of the truth.

"A visit from the King of England would affect anyone, Nan," she answered, picking a berry. As she brought it to her mouth, she stared strangely at the fruit before she realized that it became undesirable to her. She had lost her appetite. At least for the food, anyway. Why did Henry have to make her feel this way? He made her miserable without his presence and when they were alone, she couldn't get enough of him. It was torture. Not the worst, but fairly close.

"Madam," Nan said, "The Earl of Winchester begged me to relay his urges of marriage to you. He was waiting for His Majesty to leave to propose himself, but as His Majesty's visit perpetuated, I sent him away. But he is hopelessly in love with you, Madam."

Nan, in personal earnest began to suspect that Henry and Anne had done something very wrong, given that she had known both His Majesty and Anne for a very long time. She could feel the room grow fervid and intense the moment the King entered the home. It felt as if the entire expanse were sent aflame. It was no help to her that Anne was being so quiet. She hadn't even reacted to the news that the Earl of Winchester relayed a proposal to her.

Anne looked to Lady Bridget and grinned, "Lady Bridget, Je voudrais pour vous et Lady Prescott ont tendance à ma chambre s'il vous plaît."

"Oui, Madame," Lady Bridget nodded and ushered Lady Prescott up the stairs.

Anne pressed her lips together and waited for her other Ladies to leave the room. She ordered Nan to sit beside her. Her friend did not wait before urgently trying to persuade Anne to take up the Earl of Winchester's marriage proposal.

"I know he loves you, Anne. I can feel it. Why, I haven't seen a man look upon a woman with such veneration since…since….ah, I have never seen it at all," Nan frowned at Anne's disinterest, "Are you not fascinated by Benjamin Knightly? Is he not a kind, thoughtful,_ handsome_ gentleman?"

Anne gently chuckled.

Benjamin was indeed a handsome man. And he was more of a gentleman than Henry. However, she knew in her heart that she did not love him and had no desire to wed him nor bed him. She shook her head, "Yes, Nan, I agree very much with you. I'm afraid I am not ready to remarry. The Earl is no doubt a fine match. But he deserves someone who will love him with all their heart. Not someone who will forever regret that they married him."

"Madam, Anne, time is of the essence," Nan boldly protested, though her voice remained gentle, "Forgive my impudence, but you are still young. You will not be young forever. Securing a marriage with the Earl of Winchester will be both fine and advantageous. If you provide with offspring-either handsome boys or beautiful girls, all your problems will be solved. I am afraid that you….that you have fallen back in love with-"

Nan stopped herself very quickly and her hand rushed to her mouth to hinder the words that were eagerly buzzing on the tip of her tongue. She was too late, however. She knew that Anne knew exactly what she was going to say.

Anne simply smiled and looked down, not offended by Nan's words at all. She understood her friend's urgency. She understood her concern. But now it was time for Nan to understand _Anne's _situation.

"Nanette. On the night of our wedding when I lay in His Majesty's arms, told me that he couldn't imagine a world without me. That there could never be a woman he would love more than I," it had been after they made love out of lust and celebration for their long-coveted marital union. Anne remembered how she had pressed her face against Henry's warm chest, and quietly listened to him whispering his love to her, "And he promised that I would remain his wife forever. Yet when I became with-child with Elizabeth, things began to change. When I began nearing my time to give birth to my daughter, I denied Henry his conjugal rights as I was large with pregnancy. So he took a mistress," Anne closed her eyes to barricade her tears. She would never forget how arrogant Lady Eleanor had been-even in the presence of the Queen of England. She had known precisely what hurt she had been causing the Queen by whoring around with the King of England. At least when Anne had been Henry's mistress, she had the modesty NOT to sleep with him, "I quickly rid of her, though. But then Henry took another and another. They were like regular mares in a stable. And he could choose which one to ride whenever he pleased."

Anne stood up, now entirely engulfed in the past, she went to the window and momentarily watched Lady Bridget and Lady Prescott tend to the garden.

"He used to keep them in a house," Anne said, "His Mistresses. Or at least he would take them there, anyway. And when I approached him on the subject, he violently dismissed me. And he continued to take more and more mistresses until one replaced me by his side," Nan sat up and put her arms around Anne as she watched her friend tremble with sadness, "Imagaine, Nan," Anne continued, "To have someone promise you a lifetime of undying love and one day suddenly break that promise over the birth of a _girl._"

Nan swallowed, for her throat had been parched and her cheeks very hot. She was both angry and sad. It was upsettingly melancholy, hearing of her friend's sufferings."

"All that time, I was faithfully fulfilling my duty as a wife. I worried about successfully carrying a son and Henry had been carefree," anxiety and its hateful wrath set in. Anne's hands instinctively went to her stomach, as usual, expecting to feel her son kicking, but there was nothing there, "For every child I miscarried, he hated me more and more. I was in distress and he never comforted me. I found solace in the presence of my daughter, even when it hurt."

"When it hurt, Anne?" Nan asked, "What do you mean 'when it hurt'?"

"Well," Anne guiltily confessed, "Sometimes when I looked at Elizabeth, I only felt sadness because I would find myself wishing that she had been born as a male and then things would have never been the way they were. It was wrong of me to feel that way. It wasn't my darling daughter's fault at all. It was all Henry's doings. And you know what is strange, Nan?"

Her friend shook her head, despite knowing it was a rhetorical question.

"After all the hell and torture that man put me through, I still LOVE him. I still love him from the tip of my skull to the toes on my feet. I love him and I have absolutely no reason to.

In the awkward silence of Nan's lack of response, Anne laughed at the absurdity of the situation. How ridiculous she must have sounded to her friend and anyone else who has been sneakily listening in. She must have sounded like a coward. A weakling. Someone pathetic with nothing in life to live for. But she didn't care how she sounded. Henry was still hers and they would always end up together no matter how long they would part. One week or one year. The truth of the matter comforted Anne and she would be content with that.

"Never mind that," she changed the subject, "It needed to be said, though. But we must move on to other things, Nan," Anne looked to her friend, "You shall summon the Earl of Winchester and inform him that I regret not being able to accept his proposal."

"Why me, Madam?"

"Because you now understand why I will never submit to another man. Benjamin's presence was not comforting or relieving. It was suffocating and vain. Prepare a letter so that he will at least hear my words," Anne said, pointing towards the parchment stationed near the bookshelf. She did not want to admit that in truth, she more-so despised Benjamin and if she were to explain her refusal to him in person, she would have harsh words to say.

Nan complied, her thoughts too jumbled to make an assessment of the situation. She sat at the table, pen in hand, freshly dipped in ink.

Anne cleared her throat and skillfully gave her letter of refusal.

"Dearest Benjamin, I have received your proposal of marriage through Lady Anne Saville (Nan's real name) and I am more than honoured that you have chosen me to be your wife. Unfortunately I must respectfully and regrettably refuse your proposal on the basis of my disposition. I do not find myself eligible to be a wife to a man who deserves someone far more loving and kind. I bid you not to pursue me after reading this, but rather, pursue a different wife. Someone younger and prettier who you will find can provide you with greater love than I. I wish you a future that is well and fit for a noble man like you. Sincerely, Anne Boleyn, Marquess of Pembroke."

Nan mouthed every word to ensure that she had written everything correctly. She only understood very little of the situation. Anne confessed to still loving Henry. And this was why she could not marry Benjamin. It would have been cruel to both of them if they wed. But more cruel to Anne.

"Will that be all, Madam?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Madam?"

"Yes, Nan?"

"What did His Majesty want from you?"

Anne licked her lips and smiled pleasantly at Nan, "Henry apologized to me, Nan. He has admitted to the pain he bestowed upon me and has told me that he is sorry. I have seen his tears for the first time, Nanette. He is not the same king anymore. His Majesty is a changed man and a new king," she quietly laughed. She hadn't known what humbled Henry but whatever it was, it was effective and powerful. She hadn't known that it has been Elizabeth, her own daughter, who was humbling him every day.

"Madame," Lady Bridget called. She stepped into the room, "Je suis désolé, but you have just received a letter from the King of England."

Anne reached for the letter, "Give it here, s'il vous plait and then leave me to myself. Both of you," Anne looked to Nan.

They curtsied and went away to accompany snobby Lady Prescott.

Anne held the letter to her chest and sighed. She felt the engraved royal seal like she had always done and opened the letter promptly, not daring to waste another moment.

**_Sweet Anne_**,

It began, making her smile. She could almost hear Henry's voice as she read his words.

_**"Omnia vincit amor", an old friend once told me. I earnestly declare his words to be true, for it is a veritable fact that no one can resist love. Since my departure from your heavenly abode, I never ceased to think of you. I shut my eyes and I see you, my sweet, beautiful Anne. And I hear your voice, sensuous and invigorating. I am tempted to return to your home and to your body, which I trust aches for my touch, for mine longs for yours. You have awakened in me a passion I thought faded away. It is both delicious and treacherous to think of you as time is unrelenting and continues to part us, though I feel as if I have never left you. Know, lovely Anne that this is not a seduction. Know that this is meek and zealous yearning for your comforting and much-needed presence. I have decided that my duties as King of England have kept me at Greenwich Palace long enough. If I cannot go to you, I shall have you come to me. I am inviting you to court this Christmas at Greenwich Palace. Bring whomever you desire to accompany you as I trust you will be able to come. I have a fine Christmas present for you. Forever longing to have you in my arms, I hungrily anticipate your enchanting presence at court in a few days. My love, remain safe and God be with you. **_

_**HR  
**_

Anne folded Henry's letter back up and relaxed in the wooden chair, giggling and simpering. She'd felt both foolish and lively. Of course she would grace Henry with her presence at court! And perhaps she would even get to see Elizabeth! Her heart thumping, she turned around.

"Ladies!" she opened the door that led to the grand staircase and called her Ladies-in-Waiting back downstairs.

"Madam," they curtsied.

"Ladies," Anne cheerfully smiled, "We must get ready for the greatest Christmas celebration known to man. We will be joining His Majesty the King at court."

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, you guys. I've had severe writer's block with this one (every writer's curse) but I finally went for it. xD I would like to thank and give credit to Emilie De Tavanne for her suggestion and input for this fanfiction. You are awesome, mon amie. :D  
**

**Love your reviews! Very encouraging! Keep them up! Next chapter coming up quite soon, loves!  
**

**-Jace**


	21. Happy Christmas

"Your Majesty, may I present to you-"

"Princess Elizabeth," Henry finished, interrupting Lady Sharp, Elizabeth's new governess, "I need no one to present to me my daughter." He leaned forward and brought his hand out to receive Elizabeth. He then dismissed her Lady-in-Waiting, not wanting anyone to meddle with his daughter.

The princess stepped forward upon hearing her name and beamed at her father, revealing a missing bottom tooth. It was quite adorable, making Henry's heart flutter. It was another sign that his sweetheart was getting older and growing quite fast. Today was Christmas and court at Greenwich Palace was livelier than ever. Even if the people were simply in a convivial mood, Henry himself was more excited about his little surprise for later. He knew deep in his heart that Anne would come today. He could almost feel her presence at court. He could feel her this very moment, on her way to the palace. It was a very deliciously dangerous scheme but he could not help himself. He did not mind that he was acting in ruthlessly and this impeccably elucidated why he needed Anne to come to court today. If he didn't have her tonight, he would commit brutal murder.

Jane's painful presence reminded Henry that he was surrounded by people celebrating an innocent holiday and that his daughter was standing before him. He abandoned his dark thoughts and smiled upon his daughter once more.

"Mon belle princesse, comment allez-vous?" he asked, wanting to impress onlookers with his daughter's superior French.

"Ca va bien. Merci, Majeste," Elizabeth astutely retorted, "Tu me manques," she confessed to missing her father.

Henry laughed, "Egalement, mon princesse, egalement."

He opened his arms to welcome his daughter to a dear embrace and the room to burst into proud adulation and applause, which made Elizabeth to bash deeply at the new attention she was receiving. She shut her eyes and buried her face deeply into her father's chest, inhaling his scent. She then stepped back to ask her father a very important question.

"Do you fancy my dress, Papa?" Elizabeth asked, holding the sides of her overskirt and bowing gracefully, "I was allowed to help Lady Sharp make it. Well, do you like the dress?" she pined for an answer from her father and king.

Jane raised her hand to her mouth and chuckled softly as Henry smiled at his daughter's demand of his opinion of her outfit. The dress she wearing this Christmas was very nice. She was draped in a deep crimson dress with pearls sewn into her bodice. Her dress was embroidered with silver and green flowers and leaves, and on her head wore a gold crown with green leaves followed by her golden-red hair that fell around her shoulders in rivulets. Henry's smile widened as he proudly proclaimed his daughter's beauty.

"My Elizabeth, my Princess of England!" he sat up from his chair and raised his arms, bringing a hush over the court. They stopped and looked upon their King and Princess, "Sweetheart, you are the most beautiful Princess the world has ever seen. Everyone, does she not look remarkable?" Henry turned to his people. The court expressed their agreement with another round of applause.

Henry then took his daughter by her waist and placed her on his lap, settling comfortably into his seat. Waiting for Jane to engage in a conversation with a nearby friend, he whispered in his daughter's ear, "You look very much like your mother today. She has always looked prettiest in red."

Elizabeth looked back at her father and smiled sweetly, "Thank you, Papa."

"How do you like your Christmas presents?" Henry asked, "I recall you asking for many new dresses and a new pony."

"I love my presents, Papa. They are lovely," Lizzie spoke honestly, "I love all of my new ponies, too. Thank you for them. I will take very good care of my things, I promise."

"Oh, I trust you will, as you are Papa's big girl now," Henry playfully pat Elizabeth's nose, "And your new governess is enjoyable? She has not been giving you any problems, has she?"

"No, Papa. I like Lady Sharp very much. And she is far prettier than Lady Willoughby. And much nicer than Lady Willoughby. She does not say mean things about me or to me when I make mistakes. She only corrects me. She says, 'It is fine that you tried, Elizabeth, but you must perfect it'. She is a very pleasant woman."

"That is good news, love" Henry said, relieved that Elizabeth was content with her new governess, "That is very good news, indeed. I am glad you are happy today. It is Christmas, after all."

"If Mummy were here, I would be even happier," Elizabeth mumbled to herself, thinking that if she spoke low enough, her father would not here her.

"Now," he patted her sides, "Your cousins are waiting for you in the next room. I want you to stay with them for a little while until I call you back. Is that alright?"

"Yes, Papa," Elizabeth sat up from her father's lap, "You _will_ send for me?"

"I give you my word. Now off you go."

Elizabeth, followed by her Ladies-in-Waiting, went into the next room, leaving Henry with Jane in the room. She hadn't known that Henry heard her speak those words anyway.

Elizabeth was relentless in her demands to see her mother. Time had done nothing but strengthen her love for her and her need to have her near. Their situations were more alike than Elizabeth would ever know. Henry was able to develop a greater appreciation for Anne and silently begged God for forgiveness for ever regretting that Elizabeth had been born a girl, and for ever looking upon her with scorn and disapproval. He had learned that it was not the child's fault for anything that had happened, but rather, it was the will of God Himself. Henry had learned very soon to love Elizabeth regardless of her gender. He knew that she would mean more to him than any child he may hope to have with Jane. His daughter was brilliant, gifted, and strong-willed. And that was all he could ever ask for in a child of the King of England. He had not even known why he needed to nearly lose Anne to realize how much he valued both his daughter and Anne herself. But in a sense, Henry was thankful that they had gone through it all. It would go on to bring them closer to an indestructible bond fortified by true love.

As he felt these things, the busy court suddenly fell still as the announcer disruptively banged his rod on the stone ground to receive everyone's attention.

"Anne Boleyn, Marquess of Pembroke!"

If the court was silent before, this new silence was chilling. You could hear everyone's heart beating intensely when those words were spoken. Murmurs immediately ensued and confused heads turned about. The two doors opened and a fanfare erupted as none other than Anne Boleyn, divorced Queen of England, clad in red, enter forth. Jane leaned forward and reached out to grasp Henry's arm in panic. Her nerves were jumping. Had her mind been deceiving her? Charles Brandon nearly twisted his neck looking back at the king in astonishment. The only one who had been absolutely calm was Henry. He had known, after all, that she was coming. The intensity was almost strangulating.

He breathed gently as a path was made for her. His beautiful Anne Boleyn slowly came forth through the crowd, which was too stunned for formulate the reality occurring before them. Nan, Lady Bridget, and Lady Prescott followed closely behind her, keeping their heads to the ground unlike Anne who stared directly at Henry. A bold and audacious move from anyone. She smiled with her eyes towards him, knowing that he was more than pleased to learn that she accepted his invitation and made the decision to come to court to celebrate this Christmas with him. It was strange and uninviting to her to be back at Greenwich Palace, but she was not here for anyone but Henry. She carried herself gracefully through the people, instinctively numb to their presence. She kept held her hands folded in front of her and rendered the court-as she always did-in awe of her indescribable allure.

Jane stared hard at Anne, her throat tight, her body stiff. She had not released her grip on Henry's arm. She could not help but feel threatened. And betrayed. She did not take long to conclude that Henry had invited this harlot to court. And he did so without consulting her. He had done it in secret. Her very enemy was now walking towards them. How could Henry do this? This was the woman he was to despise. This was to be a disgusting creature in the eyes of Henry. This was ANNE BOLEYN. This was impossible.

Anne could feel her eyes burning as she forced herself not to give Jane one look. She vowed to never acknowledge her as Queen of England. To Anne, she was a commoner. A pale blonde in the busy streets of London. The men and women continued to stare and quietly murmur in bewilderment as Anne passed through and stopped when she reached the King.

"Your Majesty," she softly spoke, falling to her knees before Henry, feeling her body burn. Being near him was enough to feel his fire, "I am most honoured and pleased to be received to court for Christmas." She had not bowed before Jane to show that she did not acknowledge her as Queen. The people took notice of this.

Henry, a pleased grin on his face, stood up and took Anne's hand in his, inviting her to stand back up. He stared commandingly into her deep blue eyes and kept them focused as he leaned down and pressed his lips to her hand.

"Anne. I am so glad you could make it. The Queen and I are pleased to have you here. Aren't we, Jane?" Henry looked back at his wife who looked as if she were to faint if someone so little as breathed on her. He turned back to Anne, "Welcome back to Greenwich Palace. I trust you need no time to become familiarized with the palace," Henry's tone darkened, "As we spent a good many days and nights here."

"Yes," Anne nodded, "Many nights, your Majesty."

She blushed softly as she decided to play Henry's entertaining game of innuendo. The King's bedchambers of Greenwich Palace held many dark and lusty memories. Anne turned away and laughed faintly. The people were still staring hardly at her. They still could not believe who was standing in the room.

"Greenwich Palace is not only my birthplace. It is also our daughter's birthplace, as you may recall," Henry continued, signaling for the people to continue their festivities and leave the two to conversational privacy, "Our means of communication have only recently resumed and I have been so busy _delving_ into you, I have forgotten that Christmas was well on the way. I could think of no better occasion to do this," Henry turned to his groomsmen and whispered to him. The groomsmen nodded and turned away to enter the next room. Henry took Anne's hands in his, "Anne, may I present to you, your Christmas present," the doors opened, "Princess Elizabeth, our daughter."

Anne froze when she heard those words leave Henry's lips. She then gasped when she saw her daughter, her Princess, standing in the doorway appearing like an angel in red. Seeing Elizabeth promptly brought tears to her eyes and she fell to her knees, her arms outstretched towards her.

"MAMA!" Elizabeth cried, laughing elatedly as she ran for her mother like an untamed and wild stallion, "Mama!" She ran so hard, her feet hurt and her body thudded into Anne's as she fell into her mother's embrace, squeezing her tight until she was sure her mother could no longer breathe, "It must be God," she said, kissing Anne across her face, "For I have prayed. It must be God," she repeated.

"My Elizabeth," Anne sighed, holding her daughter tight with the fear of letting go. It had been two years. It had been two years but she still remembered how her daughter looked, even if she had grown. She still had the same smile and the same voice. And she still smelled like lavender and love. So much about her had changed, yet so little. Anne still loved her with every fiber of her being. Elizabeth was right. It surely must be God who allowed the two to be together once more. Anne looked to Henry with the most earnest gratitude towards him, "Thank you, your Majesty. You have brought her back to me and I thank you wholeheartedly."

Henry nodded slightly, touched to his heart that he had been successful. Not only had he been able to have Anne back in his life. He was able to reconcile her with her daughter. For once, he had been able to please his entire family. He then understood why Elizabeth was so much like her mother. It was because she loved her mother relentlessly. She needed her mother as much as Henry needed her, if not more. She spent so many nights and days with Anne that she had almost_ become_ her mother. Anne was correct. There is no bond like the bond she shared with Elizabeth. And most veritably, that bond is indestructible. It was insipid and hopeless of Henry to have even tried to separate the two.

Jane herself began to cry. But not because she was softened by the tender reunion of a mother and her daughter, she began to cry because she knew that Henry had this all prearranged. She cried because she realized her husband had set out to make **_Anne Boleyn_** happy. He set out to please **_Anne Boleyn_**. He reconciled Elizabeth and her mother in the absence of the Queen of England's consent and knowledge. He kept it secret because he felt she did not have to know. Jane could feel the sting of disloyalty from her husband for the very first time and it hurt a strange part of her heart. The party agonizingly resumed and the people stiffly danced and gossiped among themselves. It was probably the longest embrace Henry had ever witnessed. He cared not. He was so fortunate that his plan had worked. He smiled proudly at the two. Surely, this was the greatest Christmas he would ever have.

Elizabeth, crying out of happiness, buried her head deep into Anne's neck, stroking her long brunette locks. She was at peace, at last. Her mother had come back to her after all these tormenting years of desolation and anguish. She began to laugh from the deepest part of her tummy. She was so elated.

"Now that you have come back, surely you will never leave me, Mama?" Elizabeth asked, smiling so wide, it hurt, "You will stay forever, won't you? You will promise me? That you will stay forever?"

Anne gently chuckled, stroking her daughter's golden-red curls. Her hair was soothing and silky. She kissed her ear and whispered, "I do not make promises I cannot keep. That is the King's decision. But one promise that I can keep is that I will love you forever, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth shook her head stubbornly, "But promises can be broken. I know it to be. I broke my promise to you, Mama, I did," she insisted as Anne began to shake her head, "I did, Mama. I promised I wouldn't forget you but I did forget you. I couldn't remember your face or your voice, and I-"

Anne shushed her daughter and held her close, "That is not true, Lizzie. You remember me _now_, don't you? You recognized me when you walked through that door even though it has been so long. You will _never_ forget me. Remember our dances?"

A sweet smile formed on her daughter's saintly face as blissful memories filled her mind, "I remember, Mama. And the poems. I remember the poems."

"You love poems."

"Yes."

"Like Mama."

"Just like you."

Elizabeth giggled and kissed her mother's nose. She wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her again, her laugh filling Anne's ears and her very heart, making her feel complete in a way she had never felt before. This was the way things were supposed to be. Everything felt right. Anne laughed softly and looked to Henry, standing up.

"Your Majesty, if this is to be my Christmas gift, then I am content. For there is nothing I desire more than to have Elizabeth in my arms, my beautiful daughter," Anne glanced at Elizabeth, who pressed into her mother's side like a cub would a lion, "She is a graceful young lady. She is so brilliant and she is so beautiful. You should be proud, for I am the proudest mother in all of England," she looked to Elizabeth, "You have done very well for yourself without your mama, Lizzie. I am proud of you. She fixed a stern look on her face, "Apprenez-vous le français?"

"Oui, Maman. J'apprends le français. J'aime parler francais."

"Votre français est merveilleux. Tres bien, ma fille."

"Merci, Maman," Elizabeth nodded, smiling. She knew that her mother spoke French very well. She worked to be as fluent as her young mind enabled her to be in French. She wanted to impress her mother and please her.

"Have you been a good girl for Papa? You promised me, remember?" Anne asked, looking to Henry to catch his smile.

"I have, Mama. Papa will tell you himself. Haven't I been a good girl, father?" Elizabeth asked Henry.

He chuckled and nodded, "Go sit with Jane. I wish to have a moment with your mother," he patted her head and his daughter obeyed and took her place next to Jane. He faced Anne and intimately took her hand and subtly stroked it the way he knew she'd like it, "Happy Christmas, Anne," he said, stepping in closely to her, "Are you 'the most happy'?" He remembered how often he had wanted to make her The Most Happy. Even if it meant he had to damage his friendship with Charles by banishing him from court.

Anne came closer to him, smiling, "I will be the most happy, eventually. I can't thank you enough for allowing me to see her."

"I couldn't keep you apart any longer," Henry confessed, briefly pausing to admire Anne's ravishing beauty, "She continuously pined for you. She was relentless. I thought it to be unfair to step into your life without reconciling you with our daughter. Now that I have made you both happy, I feel like a true father and…well I would say 'husband' but-"

"No, it is fine," Anne shushed Henry, "You have done enough for me."

"Mmm-mmm," Henry shook his head, "Not enough. There can never be enough that I can do for you. Especially after all that I have done to you. Consider this the beginning, Anne."

The two suddenly became silent and they stared into each other's eyes with abrupt carnal intimacy. His ice-blue eyes suddenly sucked the oxygen from Anne's lungs and she found herself breathing bated breaths. Her body began to burn as she watched those icy eyes of his break contact and roam across her body, stopping at her bosom where an evilly sensual grin curled on those lips.

"Do you see something that you like, your Majesty?" she asked, teasingly.

"Oh yes," Henry's voice was raspy and his face was dark, "Something I shall make use of later on." If he were bursting earlier at the thought of her, he was bound to explode now that she was before him in the flesh.

Anne parted her lips to reply to that remark but the melody of a violin shifted her attention. The sound of the violin always made her think of Mark Smeaton. Her good friend. How long it had been since she heard him play. It was obvious that Henry had removed him from his court, not wanting any remnants of Anne looming around him. Mr. Smeaton always spoke of France with such awe. Perhaps he found a better life there. Anne's smile was bittersweet and she could feel the melancholy, yet lovely memories of her friendship with Mark Smeaton. How she wished it was him who was playing the violin, making the room move in unison as the people danced the Volta.

"May I ask why you did not bow before the Queen?" Henry asked, bringing her body close to his as they began to dance.

"You mean Jane Seymour?" Anne asked, testing Henry's authority, "Her name in mouth is a foul taste. I wish to spit, but that would only be crass. And I am a lady, after all." She danced in a circle around him.

"She is still your Queen," Henry insisted, knowing that Anne hated Jane with great passion, "You must acknowledge her," he spun her in a circle, her red dress twirling gracefully about her.

"Your Majesty must beg my forgiveness and seemingly impudence, but I refuse to submit to her and I refuse to recognize her as my successor. I…I cannot," Anne shook her head, "To acknowledge Jane as Queen would be to acknowledge that she has taken everything away from me. Even you. You know better than anyone else that I despise that woman. I despise her more than I despised Katherine. To be in the very same room with her is an ache to my bones. She disgusts me. And what she has done to me is unforgiveable. Can you understand that, Henry? I do not mean to be haughty or audacious. I only stand by what I feel is best for me."

Henry gave a single nod to show that he both acknowledged and excused the subject. He knew that there were no words that could change her decision. Anne was as adamant as a palace of God. Nothing could break her commitment to hating Jane, even if she was the very Queen of England. He understood her contempt for her. He watched as Anne's body language began to change and he had known right away that she was growing upset as the dance dragged on and on.

"What is troubling you now, Anne You look upset?"

Anne sighed. She shook her head, protesting a response, but then she decided to tell Henry anyway, "I am only upset because I must leave soon if I am to reach my home before the hours of the night draw upon London. I hate to leave. I have anticipated this day for what seems to be an eternity. I have anticipated seeing my daughter again, though I never believed I would be allowed to see her again. And now that we have been reunited, I am only to stay with my daughter for a short amount of time. I have not been here an hour and already I must leave," she lowered her voice, "And I long for your touch, Henry. I am burning for you."

Henry leaned and whispered, "Anne, do not be ridiculous. What sort of King am I to invite the Marquess of Pembroke to court and not have her stay the night?" Henry reveled in the surprised grin on Anne's face, "Yes, you are to stay the night in Greenwich Palace. You will excuse your Ladies-in-Waiting from their duties tonight. I shall visit your bed and I expect _only_ you to be there."

The music ended and the room thundered with applause for the musicians. Before Anne left for her bedchambers, she danced with Elizabeth like they had done when she was still Queen of England. She held her little hands in hers and twirled her daughter around until they were both laughing tirelessly. The mother and daughter looked exactly alike, albeit Elizabeth's golden-red hair and Anne's dark brunette locks. But they danced alike. They moved in ethereal grace, and the people at court, despite their disagreement with Anne's presence, could not help but put their dancing to a halt and watch a mother and her daughter dance like no other. Once the final Volta ended, there was strong applause from those surrounding the Marquess and Princess of England. As much as the people of England hated Anne Boleyn, no one could ever deny that she was creature of enticing rarity. She was dangerously captivating. There was no doubt that men still wanted her and women still envied her. She was a threat to everything. And even as she began to leave for her chambers, she paused at the doorway, slowly turned around to meet Jane's gaze, and flashed a troubling smile towards the Queen, sending chills down Jane's spine and making her tremble.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so fucking excited to have FINALLY uploaded this chapter! :D I have had horrible writer's block with this and it always happens whenever I'm about to do something big with my fanfiction. UGH! Again, I want to thank and credit Emilie De Tavanne for her suggestions/input. You've made my fanfiction much better. Review! Steamy chapter coming up next!  
**


	22. Good Enough

_**Under your spell again.**_

_**I can't say no to you.**_

Anne could not contain her frantic nerves as she felt Henry's warm hands draw upon her, infusing unbridled passion into her body. He paused at her stomach and brought her body against his, his groin eagerly pressing into her arse. She shut her eyes and looked down, sighing Henry's name almost weakly. The intimate contact between their bodies made her remember why Henry had come to her chambers. He was here to do naughty and indecent things to her. He was here to make her quiver and moan. He was here to remind her why she had ever fallen in love with him in the first place. Henry's hands slid north until he was cupping her breasts, rubbing the silk fabric until he could feel her nipples hard and erect.

"It has been far too long, Anne. I know you have missed me," Henry watched as her ears reddened and her teeth sank into her bottom lip. He smiled wickedly and bit her earlobe, tightening his grip on her breasts, making her shudder, "You miss my lips upon yours, upon your neck, upon your breasts, and even upon your delicious heat. You miss my hands on your body. You miss them on your breasts. Tell me that you do," he commanded, his tongue darting from his mouth and dipping into her earlobe.

"Oh, I do," Anne weakly confessed, her back arching with torturous yearning. She knew he could taste her yearning. She knew so because she felt him smile against her ear. She chided herself, as she did on many occasions, for relinquishing control of herself in the littlest of time. Her insides sizzled and burned into oblivion over the carnal excitement. She wanted his hands all over her. It was her very body, adorned in a crème silk nightgown that was crying out for his hot flesh.

_**Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand.**_

_**I can't say no to you.**_

Receiving her consent, Henry's left hand glided to her neck and sensually rubbed and massaged the silk-like skin, leaning in to whisper to her, "You know how much I love your neck," his tongue swirled across her neck, "You know how much I love you," he tugged at her breast as his warm, firm lips covered every inch of her neck as he madly proceeded to kiss her, the hot breaths between every kiss causing Anne's want for him to grow.

Her hand rushed to his as he continued to pull at her breast, flicking his thumb over her hard nipple, poking out through the soft fabric.

"I want you, Henry," Anne moaned, "No more of this nonsense, take me now."

She squirmed to face him, but Henry remained put. He pressed harder into her arse, chucking, "You are so demanding, Anne…" his voice darkened, "And so lusty."

"I cannot help my impulses, your Majesty," Anne said, "And there is no better person to relate this to than _you_," she teasingly ground her arse into his groin, feeling him harden immediately.

"You will be patient, Anne," Henry groaned, releasing her breast, and placing his thumb upon her chin, tilting her head back. They stared into each other's eyes for moments and Anne could sense something more than just an old passion in renewal. She couldn't quite figure it out and all her thoughts fled from her as Henry's lips crushed against hers. Their tongues engaged in battle and the removal of clothes began.

_**Shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly.**_

_**Now I can't let go of this dream**_.

Henry's nimble fingers expertly freed Anne from her nightgown and her body was graced with an unwelcoming cold from the chill of wintertime, making her gasp and press further against him. Her warm body was met with his body which was clothed in a rough vest and pants. Their lips distracting each other, Anne rolled Henry's vest off his well-carved arms and quickly slipped her fingers between the laces holding his breeches together. To think that the King of England had come to the Marquess of Pembroke's bedchambers in the very castle that the Queen of England was staying in. To think that after all their years of vibrant passion, they were still wild and hungry for each other. It made no sense. Absolutely no sense. But that is what made Anne love Henry endlessly. That is what made her love for him grow. She did not need it to make sense. She did not need a reason to feel this way. It was fate. It was destiny. It was God giving them one last chance to fix everything they had broken.

"Your Majesty," Anne whispered, knowing how much it aroused him when she called him that under such circumstances, "Your Majesty, what have you told Jane? How did you explain your absence to her bed for tonight?"

She was viciously curious.

Henry chuckled against her, kissing her cheek and running his tongue across her neck before taking a moment to devour her lips, "I told her that I had very important business to handle. _Unfinished_ business. In all honesty, I did not even have to lie to her. Let us not waste any more time speaking of a person of unimportance. Let me make love to _you_, my love."

Their bodies now entirely nude, Henry brought her bare body against his and groaned lightly. There was something about the physical intimacy that he felt with her that made him feel complete. Her feminine frame, smaller and far more delicate than his own masculine frame, still fit perfectly in his embrace. Even in the moment of deepest arousal, when Henry held Anne close like this, he felt like he were protecting her. Their bodies were undeniably perfect for each other, no doubt. This revelation stirred greater passion into his sexual arousal.

"You see, Anne," Henry's voice was dark as his hands drew upon her firm-yet-supple arse and delicately cupped them, "We are beautiful. Look."

Anne, acutely aware of his grip on her, glanced to the tall mirror on the wall that they were standing across from. Their bodies, nude and creamy, glowed in the wake of passion. They appeared like a glorious painting by Master Holbein. _We **are** beautiful_, Anne agreed, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. She had never realised it before. Their flesh melded together and formed one. It was an image of love sure to take anyone's breath away. More than that, it was a symbol of _their_ love for each other.

"Your body is beautiful," Henry whispered, "Remarkably beautiful. It shall be treated in a most precious manner. I shall handle with care."

**_I can't breathe but I feel...  
Good enough  
I feel good enough for you.  
_**

He laid her on her bed and climbed over her, taking her in his arms and attacking her pink lips with wild passion. His fingers entwined with her dark cascade, he commanded, "Part your legs."

Feeling heat gush at hearing his command, Anne complied and moaned lightly when Henry's lips left hers. There was a sudden wave of heat that passed over her body and she knew that her want for him would suffocate her sooner or later. Henry, grinning at her willingness, began to move south, his gaze, dark and full of lust, fixed on hers. He hadn't even touched her yet and she was already whimpering in pleasure. He knew what she wanted, she need not tell him. He could read her like a book.

The tension was slowly killing her. Anne fought the urge to tell him to hurry. The fire inside of her was ready to burst.

"Your Majesty...oh God!"

Anne cried out when she felt his tongue on her. She did not consider that someone could have heard her crying out the King of England's name. She felt his tongue gliding across her walls. Torturous and slow, he worked her with his tongue, her fine hips rotating and raising at the mounting pleasure. His tongue prodded and pressed and all Anne could do was grasp his hair and pray she wouldn't die from pleasure. She needed this. She needed it oh so much. She raised her hips even higher and whispered, her voice barely audible, "...**_please_**..."

Henry suddenly paused, receiving an angry growl from a very eager Anne Boleyn. He found her insistence delightful. But he wanted tonight to be different. He did not want to have sex with her simply for the sake of it. He wanted to make it meaningful. He didn't just want her body. He wanted _her_. He kissed the skin on her stomach, now moving back up her body, which Anne was in disagreement to. She wanted him to finish. She raised her hips with demand, but Henry pushed her back down, pausing to massage her breasts.

"Slow down, Anne. Let me make love to you. Let me_ please_ you. Let me appreciate your beauty. I will make you mine once and for all," his finger entered her burning fervor as his tongue entered her mouth. Anne held him tight and tried to muffle her cries by burying her head into his neck. Her breathing erratic, she dug her nails into Henry's back, creating a series of small crests. Henry watched Anne's expressions as he stroked harder, bringing her closer to her orgasm. Her eyebrows quivered and her face flushed. His fingers thrust in and out, in out, in out, smiling as he watched her face change. She was earnestly trying her hardest not to scream. Henry continued his torturous pattern, watching as her mouth open wide and her head raised from the pillow.

"Oh, Henry! Ah..." she came card, her walls clenching around Henry's hand, and he could feel her inner heat. He could feel her core exploding and her sanity abandon her altogether.

"Yes, like that," Henry whispered, slowly removing his hand. He never watched Anne climax before. At least not like this. She was so angelic in the midst of such bliss, such euphoria. For once, there was nothing but intact satisfaction on her face. No glints of pain, or sorrow, or stress. Just pleasure. It was breathtaking.

**_Drink up sweet decadence._**  
**_ I can't say no to you_**

Anne's eyes opened to meet Henry's intense gaze. Tremors still reverberating across her body, she watched as he began to move above her. She tried to reach out to him, but Henry grabbed her wrist and pressed it back. Her other hand reached out, but Henry's martial wit was superior. He grabbed her other wrist and pressed it back.

"My Anne," Henry breathed, chuckling, "Tell me how did you like it?"

Anne's ankles locked around his waste, pulling him atop her body, "Need you ask?"

Henry chuckled again, this time, relaxing entirely. He privately relished in the feeling of the two mounds of soft but firm breasts pressing into his chest. He relished in the intimacy they were sharing once more.

"I love it when you come," he said, "I treasure your happiness. And as provider of your happiness, I shall say I do very well for myself. I cannot believe you are truly here with me. In Greenwich Palace. Purely naked and vulnerable. I like you like this. It grants me easier access. It makes slipping inside of you...simpler."

"Henry..." Anne sighed, "I can't even begin to thank you..."

"Don't," Henry pressed his finger to her lips, "You don't need to."

"Yes I do," Anne moved his hand away, "You gave me Elizabeth. You gave her back to me. I cannot thank you enough. She is so beautiful. She is so intelligent. She is a remarkable representation of what every child of England should be. She carries herself with so much grace for someone so young. I did not think that I would live to see her again. I thought that I would only even envision her as my young baby for the rest of my life. But I have her once more. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"I waited for so long to reconcile you with her," Henry said, "I thought it fair and just. After all, how selfish of me would it be to continue to visit you and never let Elizabeth see you again? I couldn't do that. Not as the King of England, not as her father, and certainly not as the man who loves you."

Anne's eyes burned and watered and she looked away, not wanting Henry to see her tears. She wanted to show that she was, in a way, stronger. That her strength was fortified. That she was invincible. But her emotions got the best of her. She felt like she had grown so weak, she couldn't even contain her emotions. It was an almost devastating change for her. As a woman and as a mother.

"Don't weep, lovely Anne," Henry nuzzled her dark hair before moving it to the side. His bottom lip skimmed her breasts, inhaling her heavenly scent of lavender and pure grace, "You are too beautiful to shed tears. It is hurting your gracious features, and further hurting my heart. Let me take away your pain." Henry caressed Anne's face and deeply kissed her, bringing her back to the world of lust. He moved back up, grasping his cock with one hand and whispered, "I will take you now."

_**And I've completely lost myself, and I don't mind.**_  
_** I can't say no to you.**_  
_** Shouldn't let you conquer me completely.**_  
_** Now I can't let go of this dream.**_  
_** Can't believe that I feel...**_

He slid into her shortly after and then slowly slid out, almost until Anne could feel him exit her entirely. She gasped and held his hips, pushing him back in. _You **will** take me, _she spoke with her eyes. Henry grunted with every thrust. Sweat protruding from his brows, he put his entire focus on his tempo and the sound of Anne's voice whimpering his name. She threw her legs around him, locking him in her heat. Henry's face contorted in pleasure as he filled her whole, thrusting evenly and deeply between her walls.

"A...Anne," he panted, "I, I really love you."

"Yes," Anne moaned, her nails digging deep into his back and trailing down until she could feel him bum and held on, "Yes, I know you do. **Yes**."

Henry's lips drifted back to her ivory-skinned neck and proceeded to suck with the intent of leaving behind a mark. He gently nipped her, pressing his hand into the bed and sitting up so that he could have a better view of his goddess.

"Harder, Henry. Do it harder," Anne demanded, her brows wriggling. The tone of her voice alternated to a higher pitch as he complied, placing his hand upon her thigh and bringing it back so he could lengthen his strokes. A guttural moan escaped Henry's throat as he laid above his beloved Anne, thrusting at the fastest pace. The plush bed couldn't even hold its own. It creaked in reaction to the lover's bodies moving like crashing waves in an ocean. Anne's hands palmed their way back up Henry's back, pausing to grip his hair tightly and she held on.

"Ah," she groaned, feeling the pleasure in her core escalating, "Oh, your Majesty."

Henry sighed out of ecstasy and buried his head into the crook of Anne's neck, her skin soft as pillow, her moans vibrating on to him. He could feel his orgasm rapidly approaching.

"I'm going to come," he exhaled.

"Yes, I am close, too, my love," Anne's breathing grew shallow and her moans were no longer under her control. She cried out in delirium, not able to hold on any longer. It was music to Henry's ears. He was making her feel good, and that made him feel very good.

Bliss befell the two and the world suddenly became black as their bodies released in union.

"Fuck, Anne," Henry hissed, gnashing his teeth together as he came inside of her, neglecting to withdraw. He jerked as his hot seed filled her up, "Anne...you're so beautiful when you come, Anne. You are beautiful no matter what, "he surrendered and collapsed above her, laying his head on her warm and wet breasts, giving off a jovial and content sigh. Anne held on to him tight as if the world were soon to end. They never came together. Not in all their years of passionate love-making. And it was an almost magical feeling.

**_Good enough,_**  
**_ I feel good enough._**  
**_ It's been such a long time coming, but I feel good _**

Henry pulled Anne above him, laying her down on his chest, his fingers entangled with her brunette cascade. He kissed her head and sighed, shutting his eyes.  
He had not felt this good in so long. Not since the night he wed Anne and she came to his chambers, scantily clad in red lace... He drew circles on her back, soothingly massaging her to relax her.

"Goodness, Anne, that was...it was..." no words to describe what had just happened between them could come forth to his mind, "Anne, may I confess to something?"

"Of course, your Majesty."

"I may have slept with a few, well, several women...but I have only ever made love to one. Those women were the pawns in chess, but you, Anne, are my true Queen. And the King needs the Queen by his side. Do you understand what I am saying? The King protects his Queen and the Queen protects her King, no matter the cost. One without the other is hopeless, but together, they are complete. I was arrogant when I thought that I could do as I please with or without you. Now that I have lost you, I now know that I need you so very much. I greatly regret divorcing you and denouncing you as my true wife. I truly wish we were still married. I wish you were still Queen of England, _my_ true Queen. It hurts me greatly when I have to rule without you by my side. I do not even feel Jane's presence. I only long for yours. I should have never let you go, Anne. I should have _never_ let you go."

Anne threw her arms around Henry's neck and returned to his lips, softly sobbing, "I love you, Henry. So much, it hurts. And you are right. You should have never let me go, you foolish bastard. You should have known better. But even though you pushed me away, we still drifted back to each other, did we not? That is what matters, to me. I want you. Even if it means that I have to submit to you as your mistress. Thank you for sharing my bed, tonight. I needed this so much."

"Anytime you require something, my lady," Henry darkly replied, "You just have to ask me. I will be within your reach. I shall banish you no longer from my courts and properties. What is mine has become yours, Anne."

"Will you do something for me, Henry?"

"What is it?"

"Will you give Elizabeth all my love? Will you tell her how proud of her I am? How I miss her dearly and I think of her every second of my life, even in my sleep? Will you do that for me, Henry?"

"I don't need to. Our daughter knows already," Henry shook his head.

"She does? How?" Anne frowned.

"She is her mother's daughter, that is how. There is a bond between you two that is in fact indestructible. When she hurts, you hurt. When she feels, you feel. I haven't noticed it until now. Your souls are entwined. Bound by love. I could never have that with Elizabeth. Not after all that I have done to her." Henry truthfully felt that way. He had to forge a bond with his daughter in her early years because he was too blinded by the rage that she had been born a female and not the male he so hungrily coveted. Only recently had he truly began to appreciate his own daughter. After Anne had gone. Her absence changed so much inside of him. In a strange sense, it was needed.

"I can't stay for too much longer," Henry proclaimed, "Regretfully, I must descend to my own chambers for the night. I would hate to rouse suspicions. Even though after tonight, with your unbridled screaming-"

"Don't," Anne jabbed Henry, "Don't you dare. Must you leave?"

"I'm the King of England," Henry pressed his forehead to hers, "I make difficult decisions every moment of my life. I'm afraid I must. But I will stay a while longer for you, Anne."

"I leave in the morning for my abode."

"You will be back."

"Always."

_**'Cause I can't hold on to anything this good enough.**_  
_** Am I good enough for you to love me too?**_  
_**So take care what you ask of me,**_  
_** 'cause I can't say no.**_

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:** OMG It's FINALLY here! I had tons of technical difficulties trying to upload this. After adding the lyrics and switching some content, It's finally working. Lyrics are "Good Enough" by Evanescence. The song gives the chapter a bittersweet feeling, I think. The song itself is a love song, but it is almost cynical. It is written in the sense of loving someone but having difficulty believing that it is truly happening. Hence, Anne and Henry's relationship, which has been redefined. Henry now realises that he loves Anne unconditionally and is now yearning for more than just physical love. He is starting to grow hungry for her again. Hungry for her to be at his side once more. In a sense, this chapter is foreshadowing the future. This chapter signifies a turning point in this fanfiction. Things are about to evolve greatly. Review please. Next chapter is going to take a little while because I have a little baby growing inside of me and I want to take a break from this for a bit. No longer than two weeks, readers. I promise. :D **_**  
**_


	23. Apples, Madam?

Lady Bridget had been sure to adhere to the Marquess of Pembroke's command of remaining at her bedside for the entirety of her resting periods. She sat in the chair stationed by the entrance door, a small bible in her hands, mouthing the scriptures quietly to herself. Every stir and every grunt made her glance over at the Marquess who laid beneath the covers, her back turned to her. She did not make it obvious if she had been sleeping or simply resting. And Lady Bridget dared not ask. She only sat there, alert and at the Marquess' beck-and-call. She made sure the House of Pembroke was properly prepared for her return from Greenwich Palace. She made sure that the candles in the Marquess' room were dimly lit, that the fireplace was warm, and that the curtains were slightly drawn.

For someone who only wanted to rest, she certainly required several things that she would be very oblivious to in her sleep. Anne was growing to be very meticulous in the weeks that followed her return from Greenwich Palace. Every day, for instance, she wanted to rest at a particular time, only allowing Lady Bridget, above Nanette, to be at her bedside. This became a regular part of Anne's daily schedule. Furthermore, the Marquess grew to be very secretive. She didn't let anyone assist her in dressing herself anymore. And Barron was the only person allowed to prepare her meals. She ate a limited amount of food. If Barron prepared chicken broth and bread, Anne would return the plate with half of the bread bitten and little of the soup eaten. It was like she lost her taste for food altogether. Lady Bridget was not sure which was more unnerving to her. The presence of King Henry or the presence of Anne Boleyn?

There were such whispers and gossip swarming the newly-disrupted abode of the Marquess. Lady Bridget tried to flee from the rumours but her innocent curiosity had reached its greatest peak. She knew that she was in service to the former Queen of England. There was such mystery do her downfall and Anne would never utter a single breath of what truly happened behind the stone walls of Tudor Castle. Lady Bridget knew of the love the Marquess of Pembroke and the King of England once shared. England was shocked to its core when Jane Seymour and Henry Tudor wed. There were no explanations given to dismiss what happened between the King and former Queen of England. Nonetheless, with the newly adopted Protestant religion, it is known that a man cannot take more than one wife. It had been concluded. Henry Tudor had divorced the infamous **Anne Boleyn**.

Lady Bridget was a very young lady of sixteen years. She had only just come from France to live in England on her own at the age of fifteen after being summoned to be in service to Anne Boleyn. She had known very little as to why one woman riled up so much talk and gossip. But after meeting the Marquess, she then understood why.

The Marquess radiated impalpable elegance. It was purely factual. Being the youngest of the sort, she was most intimidated by her. No matter her demeanour. It was her authority and her beauty. Anne had the most beautiful flowing dark cascade of hair that complemented her wonderful porcelain skin. Women of England went through all measures to achieve that perfect alabaster skin and Anne was naturally born with it. To Lady Bridget, tanned with dark features, it was Anne's eyes that were the most becoming of her features. Her eyes were deep blue. They were commanding- a feature beneficial to any woman in or out of power. She possessed many talents. She was impressively brilliant. Far more educated than most women she had known. She was a rare jewel. How could any man-especially the King of England-rid of her? Lady Bridget knew that she would always wonder.

She revered Anne greatly. Little did the Marquess know that she was something of a role model for Lady Bridget. The woman had goddess-like qualities. Lady Bridget was desperate to learn how to acquire such qualities.

Her body quickly tensed when she heard movement where Anne lay. She shut her bible and sat up, peering over.

"Madame?"

Anne replied with a groan, turning over and squirming with great discomfort beneath the blanket.

"Madame," Lady Bridget placed her bible in the chair and moved over to Anne, timidly touching her shoulder, "What is the matter, Madame de la Marquis?"

Anne, her face contorted with irritation, grunted and shook her head, her brunette cascade now loose pooling around her as she grasped her stomach and groaned again, this time in greater volume.

Lady Bridget took her place on the bed next to Anne, embracing her to comfort her, "Tell me what is wrong, Madame. S'il vous plait."

"It is only nausea, Lady Bridget," Anne groaned dazedly, sitting up, "And an awfully terrible headache."

She looked to Bridget, wondering why the girl was standing there helplessly. She sighed in exasperation and pointed to the door.

"Have Barron prepare broth and tea for me," Anne ordered, "And send for Nan, please. That will be all."

"Yes, Madame," Lady Bridget shook her head and then nodded, mentally berating herself for not having thought of a simple remedy sooner. True, she was only sixteen years old, but she knew deep in her heart that Anne expected much more from her. She continued to discipline herself as the door shut, leaving Anne to herself.

Anne suppressed a sigh and sank back into her covers. She rubbed her throbbing temples with one hand and caressed her stomach with the other. She could no longer withstand the onslaught of morning sickness and headaches. The nausea alone seemed life-threatening. She could no longer harbour her new revelation. Someone needed to know the truth. And that someone would be none other than Nan. She was only soul known to Anne, even above Henry, that could and _would_ carry a secret to the grave. Such a secret could be costly and Anne knew she could not carry the burden alone. Anne shut her eyes and covered her face with her hands, releasing a small sigh of frustration.

The doorknob clicked and the entrance door opened.

"Anne? You sent for me?"

"Nan," Anne called, softly, "Come here. Come sit," she pat the bed insistently.

Nan rushed to the bed and placed her hand on Anne's forehead, checking her body for any signs of serious ailment. She only recognised Anne's waning complexion and a wry smile from her friend, despite the evident exasperation on her face.

"Anne, how may I be of service? Lady Bridget seemed to be very urgent when she relayed your calling. I've never seen her so frightened."

"Oh, Nan," Anne sighed, looking down and playing with the silk material of her blanket, "We have been through so much together, haven't we?"

"Some things very terrible, some things I wish to never forget," Nan nodded in agreement.

"You have proven yourself to be my truest friend. Above my own family, you have remained by my side despite every tumultuous event that I've ever encountered. You will remain my friend for the entirety of our lives, will you not?"

"Of course, Anne!" Nan nodded, "It is absurd to even question that. I love you dearly, you know that. I shall take my own life before our friendship turns to dust."

"Yes, I feel the same," Anne said. She then became quiet and the longer Nan stared, the greater her suspicion that she was hiding something grew.

"Anne…" Nan's tone was inquisitive, "What is it?"

She knew very well that whatever the Marquess was about to reveal would not be good.

Anne was stalling. The secret would be even more difficult to reveal, now that Nan was here in the flesh. But she couldn't waste any more time. Groaning as the pang of headache hit her once more, Anne sat up and moved closer to Nan.

"Nanette, you do understand that whatever it is that I am about to tell you, you must swear to keep it a secret. It must remain between _us_, do you understand?"

"I understand, Madam."

"And do you swear?"

"I solemnly swear."

"Good," Anne nodded. She wasn't sure how Nan would react. Let alone how she would explain herself to her friend to try to justify her actions," Nanette, you mustn't judge me when I tell you this. And you certainly mustn't produce any reaction that will draw unwanted attention to this room or to us."

Again, Nan nodded.

"Nanette, do you remember when I was with-child for the first time with Elizabeth? Do you remember how I had that mad hankering for apples?"

"Yes, Madam."

"Well, I am craving them again. Madly," Anne said.

"Apples, Madam?"

"Yes, Nan. Apples," Anne breathed, waiting to see what her friend would say. Her heart beat so hard, it hurt.

"So….you mean to tell me that you are…with….child?" Nan asked, tears filling her eyes, "Are you telling me that you are with child, Anne?"

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: **So as it turns out, it has been medically confirmed that I am NOT having a baby. ): But Anne is. :) I'm sure many of you saw this coming already. After all, it was inevitable. Henry is in for quite a surprise. ~giggles~. REVIEW! I urgently beseech you to review. Next chapter coming quite soon. Express your happiness or disappointment. :D**


	24. Elizabeth's Anger

"Make sure you time yourself, Elizabeth. When you dance, you should always dance accordingly to the music. There is a pattern you should always follow and your footsteps should coincide with the music. It's called rhythm, Princess. Watch," Lady Sharp put one arm up in the shape of an L and began to move around the room as Master Sheridan played the violin. She kept her eyes on Elizabeth, "Do you see how I am following the same tempo as the violin with my feet? That is how you should dance the Volta. Come," she reached her hand out to Elizabeth.

"I will only mess you up, Lady Sharp. I stumble an awful lot because this is a very hard dance," Elizabeth protested, placing her hands behind her back, "And I am too small."

"You need not worry," Lady Sharp kindly smiled, "That is why I am here. I will teach you anything and everything you wish to learn so long as it is within my experience. And dancing the Volta_ is_ my specialty. So come on, you can't procrastinate learning this any longer. You are the Princess of England and this talent must be acquired," she kept her arm extended to her until a grin broke out on the Princess' face.

Elizabeth knew she couldn't resist properly learning the dance. She was always hungry for more knowledge. "Well, alright, Lady Sharp. I will learn," she stood up from her chair and placed her hand in her governess', "And perhaps I will be able to dance the proper way with my mother. Did you see her at Christmas, Lady Sharp? Did you see how beautiful she is? Have you _ever_ seen my mother before?" Elizabeth's blue-green eyes were filled with insistence.

Having seen her mother was most definitely the best surprise she had ever received for Christmas. She remembered being summoned from the room with her cousins and back into court when she saw her mother standing before the King of England, adorned in red. She knew it was her. Her heart must have skipped a beat as she screamed her mother's name and ran to her hard enough that her heels were throbbing. Emotions of pure joy and elation filled her little body and all that Elizabeth could remember thinking was that everything in the world was as it should be. Her mother's much-needed presence soothed her and made her forget about all her pain.

Elizabeth would ask her father to see her again. Now that he reunited them, she would ask again and again and again until her mother was permanently in her life. It was all that she really wanted at the moment. To stay with her mother forever and ever and ever and ever...

Lady Sharp warmly laughed, "Yes, I have seen your mother during Christmas. And I have seen her when she was Queen of England. She was such a radiantly beautiful Queen of England. Like you will be when you are much older."

"I am not sure if I will have the chance to be the Queen of England," Elizabeth shook her head, "Because Papa wants a son to be King. I hear my father talk about sons all the time. He really wants them, Lady Sharp. Sometimes I feel like….like I should have been a boy. Then Papa would be happy."

"Elizabeth," Lady Sharp said, "I have seen the way the King looks upon you. He could not be happier with you. He loves you greatly. He would not trade you for anything."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, ready to protest, but then she thought about Lady Sharp's words. She knew that her father loved her and she loved him, too. But she heard stories. She heard the whispers and gossip about how much he craved a son for years and still has not been provided with one. How her mother had promised him…. There were many things Elizabeth heard. Certain things she chose to keep secret and never discuss with her father. So she only nodded and put her hands out to dance with Lady Sharp.

"I am ready to dance, now, Lady Sharp."

They worked on the steps to the dance until the sun settled into the white horizon and cast a new glow across the sky. They continued until Lady Sharp stopped dancing and Elizabeth was dancing on her own. She beamed proudly as she moved around the room in perfect grace and rhythm. She hummed the tune of the violin until she had memorized every the entire song.

Lady Sharp sat and watched the Princess of England dance. She was only five years of age. Five years of age, yet there was so much wisdom and experience in her. A little princess, indeed. She was a pleasure to work with. Lady Sharp could not have been more pleased with her. She learned quickly and willingly. She was not like the other girls she governed. Elizabeth did not use her position to her advantage. She was modest, respectful, and honest. She was humble, which was something Lady Sharp rarely encountered in a young lady in a high position. She was so young, yet so mature. While she was a joy to work with, there was something strangely melancholy about the child. There was so much sadness in those eyes of hers. So _much_ sadness in those eyes. It was bittersweet. And so unfortunate.

She did not know what made the Princess so upset. She did not know what she had gone through that made her so mature. But whatever it was, it would be sure to have a lasting effect on the Princess.

As usual, they read and studied the bible before suppertime. After going over the third Psalms, Elizabeth closed her bible and stared curiously at Lady Sharp.

"What draws your curiosity, Elizabeth?" Lady Sharp asked, shortly finishing her scriptures after the Princess, "I can feel you watching me." She looked up.

"Lady Sharp, what is your favourite part of the bible?" Elizabeth asked.

"Ah, well, I can't choose. That is a difficult decision to make."

"It is not hard at all," Elizabeth shook her head, "My favourite part is the one that tells you to honour your mother and father."

"You mean Exodus chapter twenty verse twelve?" Lady Sharp asked, that having been her personal favourite scripture as well, "How so?"

"Because I love my mother and father very much. I only want to please them in the best ways," Elizabeth explained, "Even if Mama is not the queen anymore."

"And what of the Queen of England? Surely you love her?" Lady Sharp asked, her expression full of concern. She was taken aback by the dark expression that drew upon Elizabeth's face. Her face hardened and her eyebrows furrowed.

Elizabeth knew that it was wrong to improperly speak of her rightful superior. Her fingers viciously picked at the flower beading on her overskirt. She was tired of holding things in. Lady Sharp was her _friend_. She could trust her.

Lady Sharp gasped and jumped back when Elizabeth suddenly shouted.

"I hate Queen Jane, Lady Sharp! I hate her so much!" Elizabeth stood up from the chair, her little body filled with rage, "I hate her because everything is her fault. She took away my Mama. And now she is taking away my Papa, too. I do not like when she calls my name. I do not like when she kisses Papa the way Mama kissed him. I do not like having dinner with her. I do not like spending Christmas with her or my birthdays! I hate, hate, _hate_ the Queen!" Elizabeth's voice began to screech, "She should not be Queen of England. My Mama should be Queen. If Mama was still Queen, she would make Papa happy. And then things would not have to be this way. Everything would be different, Lady Sharp. Things would be much better. I do not love the Queen. She is **hateful**. And she tries to be my mother, but no one else will ever be my Mama," tears streamed down young Elizabeth's saintly face, "I hate her….I hate her….everything bad that happened to me is all her fault…all her fault…"

Her small body gave way and she collapsed into Lady Sharp's arms, wailing into her bosom. The truth had come out. The truth, at last, was finally said. And since her mother had come back, Elizabeth was now more than determined to keep her mother in her life one way or another. Jane would never come between them again. Never ever again.

"If I ever loved the Queen," Elizabeth breathed, "Then I would betray Mama."

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: **So, Elizabeth has finally expressed her anger to Lady Sharp. A women she only just met recently. Can she trust this woman or not? More importantly, how is Elizabeth going to ensure that Anne never leaves her again? Find out soon...xD REVIEW! **


	25. Anima Intra Anima

Henry found himself entrapped at Greenwich Palace for weeks. He never stayed in one place for so long. Jane had become a subtle hindrance in his visitations to Anne. He spent weeks trying to impregnate his own wife, having remembered that he needed to produce a legitimate male heir to ascend to the throne. Conceiving a child had proved to be an arduous task now that the connection Henry once felt with Jane had entirely destroyed. He did not feel even a minute level of attraction to her and had to use his own techniques to arouse himself for her bed. He grimaced at the thought of it, but he knew it must be done. He was paying for all of his wrongs. Henry forced himself to imagine that it was Anne beneath him, crying out his name in ecstasy. At the moment, it worked. But the end, it was always consequentially futile. Every time he opened his eyes, he met his blonde wife's gaze. It was not his enchanting brunette. He stifled a groan of disappointment every time. Anne and Jane were entirely different as lovers.

Anne was right. Her words imprinted on his mind every time he was to visit his wife's bedchambers. She is a comatose lover. All she had ever done was comply to his commands. She never initiated anything. She completely renounced herself to Henry, she absorbed all the pleasure and never thought to give any to her King. Henry knew that his repugnance for his wife had grown dangerously great.

In the midst of it all, Henry did not cease to communicate with Anne by means of letters. He had probably written letters to her every day, promising to visit her when he could. He never explained to Anne why he still had not been to her home. He only told her that he had to complete a long-overdue errand and that he would not be sure when the deed would be done. It did not help that Anne replied to every letter, urgently beseeching him to come at once, as she missed him dearly and there was much to tell him. Henry sought to assuage her painful desperation by sending her an emerald-encrusted necklace. He thought it the only way he could please her at the moment. Strangely, the last letter he received from Anne came with a blue satin pouch with a dozen little apple seeds in them. The letter read _**anima intra anima**_. A soul within a soul. Henry tried his best to decipher the meaning the letter, having much experience with Anne's symbolic messages, but this one was especially puzzling. He could not correlate apple seeds with one's soul.

Apples meant many things. It meant Immortality, kindness, good health. It even resembled temptation. The murderous urge to have something that does not belong to you. Perhaps this was Anne's way of telling Henry that she loved him though it was wrong to love him. However, it did not explain why she wrote "a soul within a soul". Henry devoted so much time to interpreting the message that it plagued him with terrible headaches. He resolved to lay the subject to rest, deciding that he would question Anne when he was able to see her.

Alas, after many agonizing and difficult nights, Jane had finally become with-child. The doctor confirmed it within the next week-and-a-half of conception. A satisfied Henry was finally free to gallivant. He gave Elizabeth his goodbyes and commissioned her to Hatfield House. He hated to send her away, but he had not been to see her mother for weeks and at the moment, the last thing he needed was his daughter pining for his presence at home. Informing his wife that we was going to visit a good friend of his, Henry and his obedient guards traveled to London, directly heading for the House of Pembroke.

* * *

When Nan welcomed His Majesty to the House of Pembroke, she tried her very best to keep her expression nondescript. She did not take the news of Anne's pregnancy too well. She could not agree with Anne's actions. She already had a private resentment towards the King of England once she was exposed to the evil side of him. Nan did not understand why Anne would even welcome him back into her life after all the hell he put her through. A man was to love a woman, not use her. The most repulsive fact of the matter was that Henry was a married king- married to Anne's mortal enemy, nonetheless. Anne knew this and she allowed a love affair to be conducted. Anne told her everything. She even confessed that she still loved the King of England and he her. But Nan in her heart did not believe even for a moment that the King loved her. He did not even respect her. He only preyed after her body. He always did. He manipulated her mind. And now Anne was with-child with the King of England's illegitimate offspring. It was as if all of Anne's morals fled from her. Like she had lost all respect for herself. She was now no better than Queen Jane herself.

Nan knew her place, though. She was better off keeping her scornful thoughts to herself than expressing them. Even if expressing her thoughts would be for the good of Anne, her friend, whom she had been through a great deal with. She lowered her head and bowed before the King as he passed by, gently whispering, "Your Majesty."

Henry brushed past her, eager to see his beloved Anne.

"Where is the Marquess?" he asked Nan, never realising that she remained Anne's Lady-in-Waiting even after her removal from Queen of England.

"Majesty," Nan's eyes remained to the ground, "The Marquess has not informed us that she was expecting you. If so, we would have been better prepared. Forgive us."

"It is fine," Henry motioned for Nan to stand up, "Just tell me where she is."

Anne was sitting in the sun room, curled up comfortably in a ball on the chaise near the window. A thick book in her hands, her gaze was soft as she read. Henry stood in the doorway, not wanting to be announced. He just watched her in her natural comfort, smiling pleasantly. He had never seen Anne so relaxed. Not even when she was alone with him. Her hair was not tied up. It was loose, falling around her like a blanket. Her creme dress created a nice contrast to her dark hair, making her look even more angelic. Henry loved this about her. She was seductive even when she was not trying to be. He finally cleared his throat, making his presence known.

Anne jolted, quickly looking Henry's way. Her surprised expression softened when she recognised the man she loved.

"Your Majesty," she shut her book, tossed it on the chaise and ran to Henry, "At last you've come."

Henry chuckled when she fell into his embrace, deeply inhaling her scent of lavender, "Never again will I leave you for so long," he breathed, pulling her back and kissing her lips. The feeling he waited so long for. He quickly grew lost in the kiss, holding her like it would be their last embrace. "Sweet Anne," he deepened the kiss, "How I miss your lips," his heart filled with joy, "How I miss this," he snuck his tongue into her mouth, "How I miss _you_."

"My love," Anne attempted to break the kiss, but Henry pressed harder, backing her to the wall. The vigor in his lips was slowly making her melt. Already, they were attacking each other. She needed to tell him that she was pregnant, but he was making things difficult for her. She put her hands on his hips and nudged him, "Majesty, I have news for you," Anne sharply breathed as Henry took to her neck.

"News?" he asked, suckling on her skin, "What news?"

"I can't tell you like this," Anne said, moaning gently when he licked her.

"Then the news shall wait," Henry declared, returning to her lips. He was so glad to see her, he paid attention to nothing else, "For three weeks, I have not been with you. Three treacherous weeks. Now I can make you mine once more. Nothing else matters at the moment. There can be no news more important than my desire for you," Henry's hands drew upon her hips, sliding upwards until they were cupping Anne's breasts.

"Henry, no. **No**," Anne said, firmly.

She squeezed him to get his attention. Henry finally stopped kissing her and moved his hands. Pressing his forehead to hers, he breathed, "What is it? What news have you?"

"H-Henry," Anne's voice grew soft, "I've fallen pregnant, Henry..."

"What?"

"I am carrying your child, Henry," Anne revealed, watching as his eyebrows raised in shock. He did not expect this kind of news at all.

"No..." Henry slowly shook his head, "It cannot be. Pregnant, Anne? You are sure?"

"Most certainly I am sure, Henry," Anne nodded, "I have not had my monthly courses, my feet are swollen all the time, I have my share of morning sickness and nausea. But above all symptoms, I have a mad hankering for apples," Anne paused, "Like when I was pregnant with Lizzie...and all of our sons."

"Of course you are sure," Henry shut his eyes and shook his head, deeply sighing. He turned away from Anne. How was he to react to this? Anne is pregnant. And he impregnated her long before he did his own wife. He buried his head in his hands, sitting on the chaise.

Anne joined him, immediately sensing his discomfort. Henry did not budge. He only sat, muttering something into his hands. Anne tentatively stroked his shoulder, resting her head upon it.

"I know, it is a shock for you. It is a shock for me as well, Henry. I did not intend for this to happen. Neither of us did. But neither of us took preventative actions to avoid this. We did not even question that I could end up pregnant again. I am sorry that this happened. I fear I will become a burden to you now."

"No, it isn't that," Henry interrupted, "It isn't that at all. It is not your fault, Anne. Do not apologize. Certainly we did not intend for this to happen. Especially during such precious times."

"Precious times?" Anne frowned, "What do you mean? What has happened at Greenwich?"

"Anne...Jane is with-child as well."

Upon hearing this, Anne bolted straight up.

"She's _**what**_?!"

"Jane is pregnant, Anne. This is why I have not been to see you," Henry said, shaking his head. There could be no greater contradiction than this. He stood up, moving to Anne to calm her down. But she backed away, raising an angry finger to him.

"You were in Jane's bed! I can't believe you, Henry! Here I am, worried sick that you may want nothing to do with me after learning that I am pregnant, and you are off and about with your whore!"

"She is not my whore," Henry tried to reason with her, "She is the Queen of England. And she is my wife. I married her so that she would give me children. This is my duty as her husband. Anne, you must think. How long can I abandon my wife's bed? How long can I deny her conjugal rights? How would it look to England that their King is not trying to produce an heir? I have a role to fulfill. I have done no wrong. How can you be so upset with me?"

"I am upset because I cannot stand the idea of the man that I love between the legs of her!" Anne replied through gritted teeth, "I hate that woman. Not only do I have to share you with her, she is now pregnant as well. Do you want me to remain calm, Henry? Do you expect me to dismiss this?"

"NO," Henry said, grasping her arms, "No, I do not expect you to sit well with it at all. I only wish you to sit and relax. Do not forget that you carry a soul...within a... soul."

Of course. It now made sense. Anne was trying to tell him that she was with-child. The apple seeds meant that she had been eating plenty of apples, hence her cravings, and 'a soul within a soul' meant that she was carrying a baby inside of her. How could he have been so foolish? It was so simple!

"Anne...if I had known, I would have come sooner. You must believe me," Henry insisted.

Anne sighed, looking down. Henry was right. This was his way of keeping Jane under his control. Keeping her unaware of his visits. And as much as she hated to admit it, Henry role as the King of England included producing at least two living male heirs. And they had to be legitimate.

"I'm sorry," Anne apologized, "I should not be angry with you, Henry. I just..."

"Shh," Henry shushed her and brought her close, taking her hand in his and gently kissing her fingertips, "Never mind that," he smiled, "That is for me to worry about. _You_ and _I_ are having a baby. Someone to accompany Elizabeth. I promise you I will recognise our child. And our child shall be blessed with a great many fortunes."

"Thank you," Anne smiled, tears filling her eyes as she realised just how bad things could really be, "Your Majesty. This is all very dangerous. All of England will eventually conclude that I am carrying. My pregnancy will spark rumours and turmoil for both of us. People will wonder who is the father of my child. Benjamin clearly isn't, as I have discontinued our relationship a month ago. I will be accused of behaving promiscuously amongst the commoners. Whatever good I have left to my name will have been totally ruined. And so will our child," Anne placed her hands on her stomach.

"You need not worry," Henry insisted, "I can have you safely transported to Wales where you will live on your lands at Pembroke safely and happily in private."

"It's more than that, Henry," Anne continued, "What will happen when your illegitimate child is born? How is the child to live knowing that his very father is the King of England?"

"'His'?" Henry asked, cocking an eyebrow and smiling playfully at Anne.

Her cheeks flushed deeply. She hadn't realised she said "his". It subconsciously slipped her tongue.

"Well, I...I have a strong feeling it is a boy. I can almost feel it..." Anne's emotions got the best of her. Her heart shattered into a million little pieces as she remembered how she'd lost all those sons. She prayed that she wouldn't lose another child. Losing three was indescribable. Losing a fourth child would be impossible to survive. She paused and shed tears.

Henry took her face in his hands and thumbed away her tears, kissing her forehead. He heard her whisper, "I can't lose this baby."

"Stop," Henry spoke firmly, "No, Anne. Do not even think of it. You will not lose this baby. Do not even bother to question it." He wanted Anne to be happy. He did not want to past to continue to haunt her. He could not undo the cruelty he expressed towards her after the birth of Elizabeth. He could not undo how he abandoned her instead of comforting her every time she miscarried. He learned from his mistakes. He was sorry, and he hoped that Anne understood that in every way. He would make up for all his wrongs with this child. Anne held on tight, no longer crying. She shut her eyes, sighing softly as Henry's words comforted her. He told her precisely what she needed to hear. She felt Henry kiss her hair and stroke it.

"My love," Henry whispered, sultrily, "You have far too many worries at the moment. I am desperate to quell them. Tell me, how may I be of service?" His hands were already secretively pulling at the laces on the back of her gown.

"By whatever means you deem best," Anne replied. She kissed his lips, a new hunger in her growing, "I want you," she said, "Right now. Right here in this room."

"Your wish is my command," Henry grinned darkly, "Just lay back and let me care for you," he laid her on the golden chaise, "Allow me to show you how much I have missed you and how much I love you."

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: **It's official. Henry is now aware of Anne's pregnancy. Sorry about cutting the sex part short. But I didn't want to get too descriptive on this part. I'm saving the love scene for later. So review and tell me what you think. Be totally honest, I'm all ears. Express your regrets or your happiness. :)**

**-Jace**


	26. A Bad Omen

"I had a strange dream last night, Papa," Elizabeth said, holding on tight to Henry. She had never been on a horse before and after begging her father to let her ride with him, she had finally gotten her chance.

"You had a strange dream?" Henry asked, his grip on his daughter firm and secure, "What was your dream about, Elizabeth?"

They rode through the garden of Hampton Court. After leaving the House of Pembroke, Henry went to retrieve his daughter from Hatfield House, wanting to make up for sending her away for selfish reasons. He immediately felt the guilt when he returned to Greenwich and went to his daughter's empty bedchambers. He could not resist fetching her. He thought that it would be best to take her to Hampton Court, as she had never been there before and it was one of the grandest places in all of England. Much more to Henry's pleasure, Jane decided to visit her ailing father and brothers, who lived in Southern England, far from the Hampton Courts. She would stay with them for a week at most. This left Henry all the time he wanted to do as he pleased. Like old times, he would say.

"I had a dream about Mama," Elizabeth said. Her face grew intense as she remembered her dream, "You were there, too. You were both wearing white. Like when Kings and Queens get married. And I was walking Papa. I was walking towards her with my arms like this," Elizabeth outstretched her arms to show Henry how she had done it, "And she smiled at me Papa. And I smiled back. Then, I saw the colour red on her dress. She was bleeding, Papa. She was bleeding near her stomach. And Mama cried and shouted 'No!' while she was bleeding. And you were crying, too Papa. That is all that I remember from my dream. I don't understand why I had that dream. I told Lady Sharp about it and she said it was a bad omen."

Elizabeth shook her head as none of it made sense.

"Papa? What is a bad omen? Lady Sharp did not tell me what it was. It does not sound good at all," Elizabeth asked.

"Well, Elizabeth," Henry sighed, perplexed by Elizabeth's description of her grotesque dream, "An omen is like a prediction of the future. Signs that tell you something will happen. For example, when the sky is grey, you can predict that in the future, it will rain. Or when the land is dry, you can predict that in the future, food will not grow," Henry had done his best to simplify it for his daughter.

"So… a bad omen means bad fortune?" Elizabeth asked, "…something bad will happen to Mama?"

She looked back at her father, her entire face contorted with horror. Would something bad happen to her? Is that what her dream meant? That her mother would die? That she would bleed to death?

"Do not worry, my daughter," Henry stopped the horse and dismounted himself, taking Elizabeth down as well, "Nothing bad will happen to your mother. In fact, there is so much good to come. I promise, alright?"

Elizabeth did not question her father's words. She nodded, taking her father's hand and pulling him.

"Papa, let's dance," Elizabeth said, taking her father's other hand.

"Dance?" Henry chuckled as his daughter demanding tugged at his arms, "How are we to dance when there is no music to dance to? We will look ridiculous."

He shook his head and laughed as Elizabeth protested, "We don't need music. Just our arms and legs. And rhythm. Lady Sharp says that rhythm is the most important thing in dance. Without rhythm, everything is ruined."

"If you insist," Henry said, twirling his daughter around.

For a good hour, they danced across the garden, not caring who was watching. Henry was happy to hear his daughter's pure and genuine laughs. Those were the laughs he had been dying to hear. Laughs of true happiness and true mirth. He was so grateful for her jubilance and he knew in his heart that part of it had been because she was reunited with her mother. As the afternoon approached, Henry, finally worn out, had been grateful that Elizabeth's Ladies had come to inform them that lunch was prepared.

The cooks served well-seasoned meat to accompany the cabbage and potato broth. Henry ordered all but his guards and two of Elizabeth's Ladies-in-Waiting to leave them to privacy. He rarely dined with his little princess and whenever he did, he preferred to do so in private.

Henry still had strange feelings about Elizabeth's dream. Why on earth did she have such a horrible dream? It was grotesque dream. And no one-especially Elizabeth should have a dream of that content. There was much significance involved. Both he and Anne were wearing white. The colour they wore when they were secretly wed. The bleeding that had suddenly occurred strangely matched the description of a miscarriage. Elizabeth, as far as Henry knew, did not know what it meant to lose a child. And she had never seen her mother lose a child before. More unnerving to Henry, it did seem to be an omen. Anne was with-child. For the first time in years, she was with-child. Whatever Elizabeth's dream meant, it certainly did not produce good notions. If Henry put all the pieces together, Elizabeth's dream exactly predicted this: On their wedding day, Anne would miscarry and Elizabeth would be there to see it. There was no other way around it. This was the truth. This is what Elizabeth's dream meant in full truth.

"Papa?"

Henry jolted, shaking the table. He was so deep in thought. He looked to his daughter, who looked concerned by his strange expression.

"Papa, what is it? You look scared," Elizabeth asked.

"Nothing sweetheart," Henry smiled at her, "Nothing at all. Let us dine. And speak of recent happenings. How did you like seeing your mother again this last Christmas?"

Henry was eager to hear what Elizabeth had to say about the reunion with her mother. He knew that his daughter's words would whisk away his painful thoughts effortlessly.

"Oh, Papa, I was so excited!" Elizabeth's voice rose in excitement, "It was my favourite part of Christmas, Papa. Mama looked so beautiful in red."

"Yes, she always has," Henry agreed, his voice dark and low. He let his daughter continue.

"And we danced and danced and danced," Elizabeth continued, laughing with joy, "It was as if nothing had ever changed. Like Mama never left. I am so happy, Papa. Now that my Mama is back, I am so happy."

_The Most Happy_, Anne's voice reverberated through Henry's body, remembering that it was Anne's family motto. One she had and always would live by for the entirety of her life. And now here he was passing it down to his daughter, trying to make her The Most Happy as he had done her mother. He chuckled privately to himself before sipping some wine.

"I am glad to hear of your mirth, my daughter. For I think it long since I have seen such glee on your face," Henry professed, "Tell me, Lizzie," he did not call her that for a long time, as Elizabeth was his big girl now. But he resorted to calling her that from time to time. Just to remind himself that she would always be his baby, "Whatever it is must I do to keep you so content?"

"I wish to see Mama again," Elizabeth responded immediately, not giving it a single thought, "I wish to see her very soon. This way, I can tell her everything that she has missed. Will you let me see her again, Papa? Please? I have been a very good girl. And I will continue to be a very good girl. Please let me see my Mama once more," Elizabeth pleaded, remembering not to nag the King of England at the last moment.

The room fell silent when Elizabeth stopped speaking and you could hear the fire sizzling and crackling in the fireplace. Elizabeth looked down, wondering if she had said something wrong. She realised there were others around her. She was not completely alone with her father as she thought she had been. And Elizabeth had known that her father was a private man. Perhaps she was not to ask to see her mother before all of these people. Even so, why did it matter? These were her Ladies-in-Waiting, and those were her father's guards. What would they do in reaction to what just occurred? They had no say. They had no effect. Was it to remain a secret? Was Elizabeth to say something else?

"Leave my daughter and I to solitude," Henry raised his hand, motioning for his guards and her Ladies to leave, "And return when I sound my voice."

"Majesties," Elizabeth's Ladies and Henry's guards bowed and left the room.

The sound of the door shutting was Henry's cue to speak.

"I will let you see her again," he grinned as Elizabeth exclaimed and bounced with pleasure, "Not only because you have been a good girl, but also because your mother wishes very much to see you as well."

"Does she?!" Elizabeth asked.

"Most certainly, Elizabeth. She loves you."

"And I love her."

They enjoyed their lunch, discussing other things such as Elizabeth's recent lessons and how well she adjusted to her new Ladies, which Henry decided to change every few months. They discussed all of the new things that Elizabeth was to learn, praising her on her advancements. After lunch, Henry made the decision to stay the night at Hatfield House. A decision Kings of England never made under any circumstances.

That night, it thundered and rained. Such weather always stirred about memories. Refreshing memories of the past that made Henry smile. He had not gone to sleep for a good hour, thinking about Anne. Thinking of all that they had been through together. It had been well over a decade since they first met. Yet time did little to weaken his desire and love for her. He had become an entirely new man. Henry could feel the change in his heart. There was much Henry wanted to change in his kingdom. And he would not deny that taking Anne as his wife and Queen once more crossed his mind from time to time. But there was much to fear. Jane was pregnant and so was Anne. In fact, Anne was well over a month ahead of Jane in pregnancy. What if Jane delivered a girl and Anne delivered him a son?

Their long-coveted son for which their marriage had been destroyed and their love nearly torn apart. More frustrating and upsetting to Henry was Elizabeth's ominous dream. It had been like an omen. Elizabeth was thankfully unaware that her mother was carrying, yet she still managed to dream that Anne miscarried while getting married to Henry nonetheless. Henry found his sleep plagued with unhealthy and deeply distressing thoughts. What if Anne miscarried? What if she lost their child? She had done it before. Would it happen again?

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I know that this chapter was agonizingly short but I promise the next chapter will make up for it. :) Review guys. Love you all.**

**-Jace **


	27. Now We Are Even

It was the first day of spring. Daises, tulips, and orchids bloomed throughout the gardens. The sun flourished gold across the fields, melting the white frost to oblivion. The cold quickly grew warm. Celebratory banquets were hosted across the country to celebrate the new time of the year. It brought a great change about England, enlightening most. But in the House of Pembroke, there was a strange darkness that encompassed the abode. Secrets and truth had been revealed. Fear and panic swarmed the home. And there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

The House of Pembroke was silent and still this morning. All of Anne's Ladies-in-Waiting waited patiently downstairs for her to wake, not uttering a single word. They were almost afraid to breathe. They only absently dusted some lint off of their dresses or coughed from the painful silence. Breakfast was well-prepared and ready. When it had been revealed that the Marquess was with-child, everyone safely concluded that Lady Prescott's accusations and remarks were in fact true. The Marquess was mothering King Henry's child. They were sworn into secrecy by none other than the King of England himself, whowas resting upstairs with the Marquess at the moment.

They waited for any signs that the two had arisen but there were no signs of life upstairs. Not even Nan dared to Ladies privately questioned if Nan knew of Anne's pregnancy or not. Surely Nan would know. She knew everything that went on behind shut doors and closed curtains. Surely the Marquess informed her close friend before the entire House of Pembroke was alerted with the news.

Everyone, under the King's orders, was to tend to the Marquess most appropriately. They were to be sensitive when she was near, in respect of her condition. Apples would be served with every meal, she was to diet to sustain a proper pregnancy,and no one was to ever have an opinion about the Marquess' current position. (There were suspicions that the Marquess had become the King's Maitresse en Titre) The King of England stayed the night for the first time, making his re-established relationship with the Marquess evident and official. None of the Ladies bothered to question it- not even Lady Prescott, who was a mad gossip. They quietly disapproved, but kept their mouths shut. He threatened their lives and their families if they even breathed a word of it. It was a price not worth paying. But even so, some could not help but wonder how this illegitimate child was to be treated when born. How would it be recognised by the King of England? And, would he favour his child with Anne over his child with his wife, Jane Seymour, Queen of England? Did Her Majesty even have the slightest knowledge of the Marquess' pregnancy?

* * *

"Very naughty, Anne," Henry spoke.

He kept his eyes on her since he had woken from the sun rising into the room. He had watched her, still sleeping in peace, undisturbed by consciousness. He had taken the time to admire her beauty. They did not carry out their usual nocturnal relations the previous night, for Anne was too nauseous. But Henry had been content just to hold her in his arms and rest with her. Once she was in his arms, she fell fast asleep, and never had Henry seen her sleep so peacefully.

But the next morning, he was burning for her. When she had woken and turned to him to greet him with a kiss, he realised what she was wearing. The material on her nightgown was so thin, it was see-through. Almost entirely transparent. He could see her breasts right through her dress. Her pink nipples, teasingly erect and visible. He realised that she lied about feeling too sick to have nocturnal relations. She had only done it to make him want her even more. And her nightgown justified it.

The moment she pulled back from the kiss, she placed a flirtatious grin on her face.

"What ever do you mean, Henry?" she asked, dramatically looking about.

"You know exactly what I am talking about," Henry said, darkly, "You denied me last night on purpose."

"That is untrue. I was regrettably nauseous. As all women become when they are with-child," Anne playfully lied, "What ever naughty intentions you presume I have are absolutely ridiculous."

Henry chuckled, placing his hand upon her neck and bringing her down to a deep kiss, feeling her body temperature rise beneath his fingertips. He met her tongue with his, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.

"Are they?" he asked, his voice deep and husky with arousal.

Anne replied by placing one thigh over his leg, straddling him. She seductively grinned once more, "We must find out."

Henry's eyes skimmed her teasing nightgown, calculating how he would undress her. He started with his hands, cupping her breasts first before slowly sliding them down to her stomach, taking a moment to appreciate that they created a little life, before palming her smooth thighs. He began to slide the sheer fabric up her legs when he smiled at a new surprise.

"What have we here?" Henry raised an eyebrow, biting his bottom lip as Anne smiled at him.

"Well, you Majesty? Do you see something you like?" Anne asked, leaning back a little. She still held him captive with her legs. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Oh yes, I like it very much," Henry nodded, "I shall lay claim to it."

His warm hand slid up to her melding hot flesh, teasing around her heat, "For what possession can be greater than this?"

Anne shut her eyes and moaned gently when his fingers finally made contact with her heat. But he did not enter her. He only pressed, feeling and caressing her, torturing her. He rubbed her slowly, his eyes on her face as she began to lose it second by second.

"Henry..." she moaned softly.

Henry continued to tease, rubbing her throbbing clit in slow circles. Anne called his name again, this time, looking down at him, arousal and annoyance in her eyes. Henry knew what she wanted, but he wouldn't give it to her. Not yet. She would pay for denying his bed last night. She called his name again, her voice more assertive, but Henry continued to stroke her, ignoring her unvoiced demands.

Pleasure combined with insistence, Anne called Henry's name again, but he silenced her by unexpectedly hasting his strokes. She closed her eyes once more, and threw her head back, digging her nails into Henry's thighs. Though she had fun playing on Henry's feelings by denying his bed last night, she surely wished she had given in. Every time she was with him, he made the pleasure feel new. It was like she were still a maiden. Every union was an adventure. It would always feel like her first.

"Henry..." Anne moaned, her voice now getting louder, "..._Henry_."

He finally thrust his finger inside of her, making her cry out.

"...Yes, Anne? You were calling my name?" he jested with her.

"Do not stop," Anne insisted, allowing him to do whatever he pleased with her.

"At the moment, that is not for you to decide," Henry informed her, slipping another finger inside of her, thrusting in deep strokes, "As you are now under my control."

"I am yours," Anne moaned, feeling the pleasure inside of her burn. As much as she wanted to put up a fight for the sake of it, she decided to let Henry control her this time. She gave herself to him entirely.

"You will always belong to me," Henry reminded her, adding a third finger. She wasn't moaning loud enough for him. He thrust into her walls, finding the perfect rhythm that would make her cry louder. And he did.

"Ah," Anne cried, feeling a greater wave of sensual pleasure crashing down upon her. She cried out louder when she felt a fourth finger sneak inside.

"Hush," Henry commanded, laying her back, "You must keep quiet, Anne. Your Ladies are downstairs waiting for you. The moment they hear you, they will come barging in to prepare you for the day. And I am sure you would like to finish what we started," his ice-blue eyes, now dark with lust, stared into her azure orbs, equally dark, "...or do you feel too nauseous to continue?" His fingers slid out of her heat, making her gasp and groan with disappointment.

"You are torturing me, Henry," Anne breathed, "To make me regret denying your bed last night."

She watched as he smiled at her, satisfied that she was now aware of what he was doing to her. This only increased her arousal, making her feel too hot to breathe. His face clouded her vision as he leaned in and grasped her jaw, pressing his lips against hers, roughly kissing her as he began to unveil her naked glory. As he pulled her gown over her head, he simultaneously slid his shorts down his legs, more than eager to take her.

"The real torture will be you trying to keep quiet," Henry teased as he dragged his lips across her neck, down to her collarbone where his lips tightened against her skin where he sucked on the bone. He continued to move down, capturing a breast between his lips, circling his tongue upon her nipple, wetting her mounds, "If you think it impossible to do so, we can just lay here."

"No," Anne moaned as he captured her other breast, "Keep going."

She didn't want him to stop now. Not after all that he had done to her. Prodding her with those naughty fingers of his. He had brought her so close to orgasm, she could taste it in her mouth. And like waking abruptly from a pleasant dream, he had stopped. They had gone too far. There was no way Anne would allow him to go back now...

"Guide me," Henry whispered hotly, biting at her earlobe, "Show me where you want me."

"Everywhere," Anne softly cried, reaching for his neck and pulling him down to her lips, exploring his mouth with her tongue. They engaged in an oral battle for moments, deepening their desire for **it**.

"Lay on your stomach," Henry commanded, gently biting at her lip before freeing her of their kiss. He watched her as she readily complied turning over and laying on her tummy, conscious not to harm the life inside of her. Henry took hold of her never-ending cascade, brushing it to the side and leaving her back entirely exposed. His hands palmed across the surface of her porcelain skin, remarking how exquisitely beautiful she was.

"Take me," Anne impatiently huffed, hungry for the feel of his member inside of her, "I demand it."

Henry grasped his self, aligning himself with her opening.

"I will be gentle," he promised, reminding himself that is was very important for him to be gentle. He lost control too easily in such instances. And now that she was carrying...

A shrill cry of satisfaction spilled from Anne's throat when she finally felt him enter forth, slowly driving himself into her until it was no longer determinable where he ended and where she began. He thrust once, painfully slowly. He thrust again, a third time, a fourth, until he had found a good pace to work with. One that would not harm the baby and one that would tease Anne.

"Oh, Henry," Anne moaned, a grin of pleasure finding its way to her lips, "Yes."

"Quiet," Henry reminded her, gently placing her head upon the gold pillow.

In a hopeless effort to stifle her cries of passion, Anne buried her face into the pillow, gripping it tight until she was sure her nails had cut through the fabric. Henry continued thrusting at the same pace, pumping life into her. He shut his eyes, and let out a long sigh as pleasure washed over him. His hands roamed body as he pumped, cupping her breasts, tracing the lines of her hips, lovingly rubbing her stomach, and grasping her soft-yet-firm arse. He took to her hips, holding on tight as he increased the pace of his thrusting.

He could not help but feel satisfied that Anne had even denied his bed last night. It made the next morning equally, if not more, erotic. He heard her cries, muffled, but shrill. Thank goodness for the pillows. Anne was as loud as a battle between Britain and France on a clear day. Though Henry never minded hearing her true cries of passion and cared not that her Ladies were downstairs waiting for her, he knew that Anne was more sensitive about their intimate relations when other people were around. He knew to respect that.

Henry pressed his hand against the wall, realising that if he squeezed Anne's hips any tighter, he would hurt her. He hastened his pace once more, using his free hand to rub her throbbing clit as he thrust. He wanted to intensify her pleasure and bring her to such great heights.

This made Anne lift her head from her pillow, letting out an expectantly loud moan.

"Silence," Henry reminded her, moving a bit faster, rubbing twice as fast.

"I can't!" Anne cried out, defeated from trying to keep quiet. It was impossible. And Henry knew this. He was using such tactics on her on purpose. But at the moment, she didn't mind. All that swarmed through her head was the man pleasing her and the exact pleasure he was giving her. Biting her bottom lip, she cried, "Faster, please."

"I must be gentle," Henry reminded her, though his hips betrayed him by thrusting faster. Sweat protruding from his brows and trickling down Anne's spine, Henry could feel her clench around him and he knew to rub her clit faster, rubbing in tight circles.

"Oh," Anne cried, "I'm close, Henry. I'm going to come," her moans escalated. She clenched tightly around him a gave a defining final whine, reaching her climax. Her body was ready to give way, but Henry was still thrusting. He didn't come yet. He wanted her to come first. He would always place her satisfaction before his. Anne, her breath labored, turned back to meet her lover's gaze, her eyes bright and blue with orgasm.

Henry could see it in her eyes. It was fiercely evident. He grunted loudly, gritting his teeth as he burst with orgasm and spilled inside of her. The world had suddenly become black and the golden room, illuminated by the sun, had become a blanket of darkness as Henry's body gave way and he collapsed besides Anne, pulling her soft body, still trembling from pleasure, close to him.

They did not speak for the first few moments, still catching their breaths.

After a while when Henry was sure Anne had fallen fast asleep, he kissed her cheek, and whispered.

"Now we are even."

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Hope you enjoyed reading this because I enjoyed writing it. Review, lovelies! :D**

**-Jace**


	28. I Hope It Is a Boy

Jane Seymour, her Majesty, Queen of England, lost her boy. She lost him within seven months of her pregnancy. Far worse, she had lost the child during a celebratory feast in front of multitudes of people, including the newly-appointed French Ambassador. The guests had gasped and screamed at the horrible sight as they watched their Queen let out an ear-splitting wail of terror when a suddenly deep red hue formed on her gold dress and blood protruded from her walls and her very child spilled on to the ground.

The doctors could not provide a definite conclusion as to why she had lost the baby. It was a shock to everyone- especially Jane. As the Queen of England, she was provided with extravagant care for her baby. She had not been subject to stress in any way. When the fetus had been cleansed and examined, there was candid evidence that it had been a male. The doctors could only conclude with great skepticism that it had been a health issue that brought on the miscarriage. Brief rumours that she had been poisoned circulated England but it had quickly died out as the Queen was not popular enough amongst the people to fuel the gossip. It had also died out much to the manner in which the King of England presented his reaction to the loss of his son.

The King's behaviour was disturbingly unusual. In fact, Henry had done very little to express his bereavement. He fled from Greenwich Palace and established his stay at Hatfield House, gracing himself with the presence of his healthy and very-alive daughter, Elizabeth. He also visited a very-pregnant Anne Boleyn every moment that he could. He wanted to escape it all. In his heart, he was disappointed, humiliated, and angry. He was sad. And he was heartbroken. He married Jane so that she could bear him sons and she had done the very opposite. He lost another child. Another son. On the outside, he appeared to be numb but on the inside, he was torn with grief.

When staying with Anne, they could no longer engage in their much-needed intimate relations, so he took to holding her in his arms when the night's hours approached. He could have chosen a mistress to distract him, but Henry found himself not wanting to share another woman's bed. He had no desire to. If he could not be with Anne, he would have to wait until due time. His dedication had become just that much stronger. During his stay at the House of Pembroke, verbally he expressed almost nothing that concerned the painful loss of his son.

He would centralise all of his focus on her pregnancy. Their conversations were short, and of little meaning. He did not utter a single word of Jane. But at night, he had expressed his grief when putting his back to Anne and crying into his sleep, thinking that she hadn't seen or heard him. But Anne knew. And she would console him without speaking a word. She only wondered if he had ever done this with Jane when she had lost all of his sons. She did her best to ignore the faint burning of envy within her at the thought of him actually grieving the losses with his then-mistress instead of with Anne herself.

Anne tried her very best not to become too invested in the situation. A miscarriage was not something she would ever wish on anyone. Not even Jane Seymour. She had known its woes all too well. Nobody deserved to face that horror. She barely survived it. And she would not have it happen to her again. She could not fight her fears for her and her baby's health. She reached her eight month of pregnancy and she felt like she would give birth at any moment. She had grown to be highly cautious and sensitive. Paranoid, even, which was something she hoped to avoid. She could not help it, though. With the news of the Queen miscarrying, and witnessing Henry's grief, she felt like she owed it to him to carry a living child. If a door slammed, her hands instinctively rushed to her stomach with panic that the baby was coming. Any sudden noises made her gasp and cower away. She greatly detested how manic she had grown as she was etching toward her birthing period. However, she could not battle her fears of miscarrying.

When Anne was married to Henry, she lost every son they had ever conceived. Surely she had been cursed. Who was to say that He would not curse her again in opposition to her recent liaisons with the _married_ King of England?

It was Elizabeth that brought Anne the relief she desperately needed. Henry had allowed communications between the two to resume and the Princess of England quickly became a regular visitor of the House of Pembroke. She would be allowed to see her mother once a week, every week, and sometimes she had even been allowed to stay the night. All of Anne's Ladies-in-Waiting were greatly fascinated by the young princess. Her intelligence and wit was so astounding and so far beyond her years. She could already speak a great amount of French for her young age. She was no doubt a very clever girl. And she was very image of her mother in both her physical and characteristic attributes. They had been both honoured by her presence and captivated by her level of skill and grace.

Elizabeth treasured every moment she spent with her mother. She kept a small diary in which she recorded every visit in her diary so that when she went back to Hatfield House, she could share her experiences with her other Ladies-in-Waiting. She had also taken note of her mother's conspicuously large stomach. She had known that her mother was pregnant. She did not have to ask. She had seen her mother pregnant on several occasions. She would place her tiny hands on her mother's tummy and listen for the soul that was growing inside. She would sometimes even speak to her stomach, reading bible scriptures to the soul and reciting her favourite couplets from memory. She was overjoyed that her mother was having a baby. A sibling to keep her company and an adorable baby that she could cuddle and read to the way her mother read to her. In the midst of all the excitement, Elizabeth could not fight asking her mother where babies came from.

Tonight was one of the nights that she was staying the night with her mother. As usual, she went to her mother's bedchambers in her silk nightgown to sleep with her. Lady Sharp, who had been more than honoured and eager to meet the young Princess' infamous mother, brought her to her to the Marquess of Pembroke.

"Mama," Elizabeth exclaimed, her bare feet thudding on the ground as she cantered across the floor to her mother. She met her mother's open arms as she climbed into the colossal bed with her mother.

Anne cradled her daughter in her arms as she embraced her, laughing and kissing her. Her lips then moved to her fingertips, and she kissed them for good fortune and nuzzled her golden-red hair, inhaling her saintly scent. She let a single tear role down her face as she quietly thanked God for allowing her to be with her baby again. There was never a day that went by when she did not thank the kind Lord for letting her be with her daughter. Anne had known all too well how much worst things could be. Henry had finally let up and just like her daughter, Anne was determined to stay in her life for as long as she lived.

Elizabeth snuggled under the sea of covers with her mother, careful around her huge stomach. She drew her arms around her tummy, kissing it softly, like she did every time.

"Mama," Elizabeth finally mustered up the courage to ask her a question of importance, "Where do babies come from? I already know that they stay in your belly, but where do they _really_ come from?"

Anne's eyes widened when she heard that. She looked down at her daughter, "Babies, Elizabeth? You wish to know where babies come from?"

"Yes," Elizabeth nodded, "Where do they come from? How are they made?"

"Ah," Anne chuckled softly, running her fingers through her silky hair, "Well, my daughter, they come from love."

"Love? How can that be, Mama?"

"It is rather simple, Elizabeth. When Mamas and Papas love each other very much, they express it in a very special way. When they express their love, babies are made. You will see when you reach a certain age," Anne promised, glad that she spent much time preparing for the day that her daughter would ask her about how babies are made.

"Oh…" Elizabeth nodded, no longer confused, "So then…if babies are made when Papas and Mamas love each other very much, you are having the baby with Papa?"

Anne could not resist widening her eyes when Elizabeth asked her that. It was almost as if she were questioning who the father of the child was. But then she calmed down, remembering that she was only five years old. And there were very little things about life that Elizabeth fully understood. And the world around her was so boggling and dark. The least she could do was ensure herself that her mother and father still loved each other and the baby was proof.

"Yes, Elizabeth, your father and I are having a baby," she nodded, smiling from ear to ear.

"And that means that you love each other very much?" Elizabeth asked, hope filling her soul to completion.

"We never stopped loving each other, Elizabeth," Anne kissed her daughter's forehead, "Just like I never stopped loving you."

"That is good to hear," Elizabeth softly spoke, nuzzling her face into her mother's neck, "I am so glad," she looked up, "I hope you have a boy, Mama."

"Why do you hope I have a boy, Elizabeth?" Anne looked down at her daughter's concerned face, "Is there something wrong with having girls?"

Elizabeth shook her head, her curls bouncing, "No, there is nothing wrong with having girls, Mama. It's just that…I hope it is born a boy because Papa would like that very much."

"And whatever reason do you deem that to be so?"

"Because he talks about having sons all the time. I also hear my Ladies-in-Waiting also talk about it. They say 'The King wants a son so badly. Oh, how the King wants a son'. It really is all he ever talks about, Mama," Elizabeth explained, "Do you not think that he would be pleased if you have a boy?"

"He would," Anne nodded, "He would, my darling."

"I should have been born a boy," Elizabeth confessed, looking down again. There was a painful sadness in her voice that Anne detected, "This way, Papa would really be happy."

It hurt Anne when she heard those words come from her daughter. She sighed and shook her head, lifting Elizabeth's chin.

"Do not say that, Elizabeth-"

"But it's true-"

"No," Anne spoke firmly, "Your father loves you so much. He would never trade you for a son. Never. You are the greatest daughter he could ever ask for, alright?"

"But it's my fault-"

"No it is not. Boys and girls are born by God's grace and God's grace only. It was not time for me to have a son when I have birth to you and that is why you were born a girl. I promise you, Elizabeth, your father is so proud of you. He loves you very much. I want you to relieve yourself of these burdensome thoughts. They are to concern only your father, the Queen of England, and I," Anne asserted, "You are perfect, Lizzie. And I love you. You are my own heart."

Anne hugged her daughter tight, kissing her many times to show her how much she meant those words. It broke her heart to know that her daughter felt that way. She knew that Henry was disappointed to learn that Elizabeth had been born a girl at first, but he had grown to love his daughter for who she was and chose to let his anger towards Anne go years ago. She had hoped with every fiber of her being that her daughter never figured this out, yet somehow she found out anyway. It deeply saddened her, and it angered her simultaneously. This was unfair to Elizabeth. She was so special and so exquisitely brilliant. She did not deserve to feel this pain.

"I love you, too, Mama," Elizabeth smiled, "So," she kissed her mother's cheek, "Much."

She looked down at her mother's stomach, rubbing it. She had seen her Mummy pregnant before. She had seen her mother pregnant many times, but she never got to see any of the babies.

Lady Bryan once told her sometimes, God selected babies to reside with him in heaven to serve celestial purposes. But Elizabeth, as much as she believed in God, did not think those words to be true. She knew in her heart that something else had happened to those babies. Whatever happened, she hoped it would not repeat again this time. Elizabeth felt in her very bones that she would have a little brother. And she wanted to have one so much.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So we get to see how Elizabeth feels about her mother giving birth to a boy. She recognises the importance of gender even at a young age. It's sad for her to know this, but it is also very vital that she does. After all, she is the future Queen of England. The greatest Queen of England, in fact. Please review. I need to see them, grrr... Next chapter coming right up.  
**

**-Jace :D**


	29. Two Weeks Too Soon

"It is almost time, Anne," Henry spoke with a warm smile on his face. His arm was wrapped around her protectively and comfortably as they strolled through the gardens of Hampton Court. He stroked her stomach, large and round, "I haven't felt this way since you were with-child with Elizabeth."

Anne grinned and leaned in, whispering, "That is a good thing, I presume," before kissing his cheek.

"Oh it is. I can feel the baby kicking, Anne," Henry felt his heart jump and he felt an electrifying tingle pass down his spine as he felt a tiny foot push forward and jab at his hand through the silk material of her dress.

Anne giggled, placing her hand above his, "This little fellow is becoming more and meticulous. He desires to come out of his Mama more than I want him to. He is a furious kicker, this one."

"I felt it again," Henry gasped as the tiny foot jabbed his hand once more on cue, "He is so strong. This will be a successful birth. I can tell."

There was a hint of worry in his voice and Anne was not sure if it was because of the child that he lost with Jane or all the sons he lost with herself. She could not decide if she would ask or not. Perhaps it was best not to press him. He was still healing, she presumed. Or maybe he pushed it away and blamed Jane the way he had done to her.

She was at her ninth and final month of pregnancy. Henry was taking all sorts of precautionary measures to ensure that Anne carried this pregnancy to its very end.

"Don't you see?" Anne smiled, "Everything is going well. You have naught to fear, your Majesty. We will have a strong and healthy child. There is no need for all of these midwives on site. I can handle this on my own quite all right," she did her best to put him at ease, though she had been the more uneasy of the pair.

"I understand, sweet Anne," Henry sympathized with her, "I know that you do not trust them. But **I** trust them. They are my loyal servants and I have made it most clear and concise that it would mean the end of their lives and their families' lives should they bring the slightest harm to you. I have sworn your entire household to secrecy. Whether or not they approve is not really a matter of choice. They all answer to **_me_**, Anne. Trust me, my love. You must trust me. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby remain safe until due time. I will not lose another child. You will not lose another child, Anne…"

A much-needed hush fell over them and they continued to walk side-by-side, arm-in-arm, in silence. Words did not need to be spoken at the moment. Henry's words sent a rush of pain over the two. He scarcely ever spoke of their lost children. Anne would never forget all of the hate and turmoil that followed the miscarriages and stillborn children that scarred their relationship and scarred her forever. Henry behaved so viciously and savagely pushed her away and cast the blame on her. It was always "you've lost my boy". It was not just his child. It was her child, too. It was _their_ child. He had been part of it no matter how much he had denied it. He had been part of their creation and their ending. Regardless, she was the one who carried those babies. She was the one who dealt with the insurmountable woes of back pain, piercing headaches, and the seemingly undefeatable nausea. He stopped attending to her after Elizabeth was born and left her to suffer in silence. It was so awful, having to go through those nightmares.

"This is all very hard on me," she confessed softly, putting an end to the silence, "It is harder for Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" Henry asked, "What of our daughter?"

"She wishes she were born a boy, Henry," Anne said, "She told me the other night. She told me that if she were born a boy, she would make you happy."

"What would compel her to say such a thing?" Henry asked, feeling a familiar twinge of guilt strangling his heart.

"She told me that you always speak of sons. And so does her Ladies-in-Waiting, apparently. Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

Why did he even ask?

"Is it true that you speak of having sons all the time? Even when our daughter is near?" nne asked, the tone in her voice shifting from soft to assertive.

"I only spoke on occasions, Anne," Henry said, "And usually Jane would introduce the subject of having boys. We never discussed it politically, of course. It was innocuous, Anne. And it only pertained to expanding the family."

"Regardless, Elizabeth understands the importance of a son and it's supremacy over a female child," Anne continued, "And she is hurt, Henry. She cried to me, saying how much you would love it if she were born a boy. She can sense your anger, whatever of it is left, and she blames herself."

"I love my daughter," Henry affirmed, "I would not trade her for any son that I have."

"I told her that, Henry. I just hope that she takes my words to heart," Anne's voice softened once she heard his explanation.

"No," Henry shook his head, "She will need to hear it from me. I will tell her as soon as I return to Hatfield House."

He never said anything around his daughter that would make her feel subordinate to a male. There were things he would never discuss in front of Elizabeth, recognising that she was terribly sensitive. It was her brilliance that helped to draw a conclusion that boys were more important to kings in the world of royals and monarchs. Still, her pain was his pain and he could not wait to quell it.

"Do not worry about her at the moment. I fear you will give birth any moment and I do not want anything to bring stress upon you. Let us talk of other things."

"I can't think about anything else, Henry. I'm physically hurting. There is such a pain in my back, my feet have never felt more swollen, and my very breasts are sore. And even my stomach feels atrociously large. I do not ever remember carrying this large before," Anne groaned, "This is far too much on my body, Henry. I wish it to be over a soon as possible."

"As do I," Henry leaned in to kiss her lips before gazing into her deep blue eyes, "That is why I am here with you, my love. I want to make things as simple as possible for you. I wish to make up for the past. Things are different. Now that I am here with you, everything will be alright, "he kissed again, deeper this time, to assure her, "I give you my word. "

Just as those words rolled off of his tongue, Anne let out a cry as her face contorted as if someone stabbed her.

"Oh my God!" she cried out, grasping her stomach with both hands. A familiar pain ripped through her abdomen and burned at her sex.

"What is it?!" Henry asked, now panicked, "Anne, is it the baby?"

"Yes!" she nodded, gritting her teeth, "Oh my God, it's the baby. I can feel it. It's too soon, Henry," tears began to form out of fear, "It's two weeks too soon."

"Be calm, breathe," Henry said, trying to calm her, though his heart was in his throat. He placed his hand at her side and called all seven of the midwives, who were close by.

"I'm losing the baby. It's too soon. I'm losing the baby, Henry…"

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is it, fellas. It's almost time. Is Anne losing the baby? Or is it a premature birth? Everyone review and tell me which one you believe it to be. I would LOVE to see at least 200 reviews before I upload the next chapter. Pretty please? Cheers. **

**:D  
**

**-Jace  
**


	30. Stay With Me

Henry stood helplessly in the farthest corner of the room as all of Anne's midwives and Ladies-in-Waiting bustled and cantered about nervously. They tried to push him out of the room but Henry refused to budge. It was customary for Kings not to be within the home of their mate when she was giving birth. Kings were to be elsewhere, celebrating or distracted with other entertainments. But Henry wanted to stay with Anne the entire time. There was absolutely no possible way that he would leave her. When she began to cry out in pain during their stroll earlier in the gardens of Hampton Court, Henry's guards summoned the midwives and Anne was taken inside to the already-prepared birthing room. Henry at first panicked when he thought that Anne was losing the baby right before his eyes. She seemed so sure that she was losing the child at the moment. There was an unbearably painful look of fear in her eyes that stabbed Henry's heart and deeply cut him. He tried to convince Anne that she was fine but she blocked out his words and began to sob in pain. She would not take his words until the head midwife confirmed that she was giving early birth. But she was losing so much blood and Henry did not have the faintest idea if it was normal or not. He knew very little about giving birth. After all, he had never been around for it.

The midwives had changed Anne's garments to make the birth less of a struggle and placed her on the bed, putting her in proper birthing position. So much had happened in very little time. Vases filled with warmed water were brought out on a tray. There were towels neatly folded and ready for use. The most alarming thing that Henry saw was strange tools that looked like knives. He could not tell if the knives were to be used on Anne or not. He was mostly terrified for her at this point. Any excitement that he had before concerning Anne's pregnancy had been swallowed up to nonexistence when she went into spontaneous labour. He had never known what a woman had to go through when giving birth until now. And he was forced to watch her because he could not bring himself to leave.

Her screams filled his ears and broke his heart. He watched her, her dark hair spilling down her stomach, wet and stringy, screaming in pain as she pushed with all her might. She had been screaming like this for at least an hour and a half and Henry could not stand it. As much as he wanted to rescue her, he knew that the midwives had to do their job. Still, he wanted to put an end to it all and make Anne feel better. He never felt this way before. He felt like someone was stabbing him all over. Every time Anne screamed as she pushed, the greater the urge for intervening became. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Not ever.

_I should hold her hand, at least,_ he thought, cringing as Anne let out another wail. But he still could not bring himself to move one bloody limb. He took comfort in the fact that Nan was with Anne, holding her hand, gently urging her to push again, her tone the exact opposite of the head midwife's.

"Push!" the head midwife named Alice ordered, blocking Henry's view of any sort of a baby protruding, "I have a head, Madam. Push harder."

"God!" Anne cried, tears rolling down her cheeks as she pushed harder. They demanded that she push again. She cried out once more, cracking the bones in Nan's hand. She wanted to give up. She pushed at least thirty times already. This baby was a greater hassle than Elizabeth. Her daughter nearly slipped out of her, so to speak. But not this one. It could effortlessly be compared to pushing a boulder through a molasses field.

"Breathe, Anne," Nan reminded her calmly, despite the deafening sound of her heart beating in her ears, "It is soon to end. Just a few more pushes and it will all be over."

Anne sobbed as she pushed again, trying to pace her breathing. Her strength was giving way. She could tell. She wanted to shout "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE" but there was no going back when giving birth. Either she pushed this baby out or she would face death. And there was no way in hell she was going to die. This was the most painful birth she ever experienced. She felt as if her very sex were being ripped apart and set aflame. Her entrails felt like they were imploding. Her teeth almost gnawed her bottom lip raw as she pushed again, sitting up and then collapsing back into the bed.

"Keep pushing, Madam," the Alice insisted, "I have the head. Push a little more…"

A weak sob escaped Anne's throat shortly followed by the sound of a wailing baby.

Anne's nurses quickly took hold of the baby, placing it on the straw cot to cleanse it. The moment Henry heard the sound of a baby, relief washed over him. Words could not describe the joy he felt hearing the sound of a living, breathing baby. HIS leaving and breathing baby. He shut his eyes, whispering "Thank you, God."

"You have a girl," the nurse presented the wailing bundle to Anne before looking to Henry, "She is a very beautiful girl, your Majesty."

"A girl," Henry breathed. The midwives had not yet let him near the bed, so he peered over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of his daughter, "Oh, she is beautiful, you have given birth to such a beautiful girl," his heart grew warm when Anne smiled, though it was a weak smile. His new baby girl was so beautiful.

"It's over," she said, her throat hoarse. She smiled pleasantly at her daughter, who was still crying.

"She is very beautiful, indeed," Nan agreed, grinning at the child.

Anne was burning with pain on the inside and her stomach still felt quite full, but her heart felt just fine. It was over, thank God.

Caked in sweat and tears, Anne gave an accomplished sigh. She was so confident that she was giving birth to a boy. It was not that she was disappointed. It was no longer her duty to service the King of England with a son. That burden had now fallen on Jane Seymour, that whoring bitch. It would have been nice to give Henry a son to further prove that he should have given her another chance when they were still married. But she was not disappointed in any way. She was very pleased with herself. Now Elizabeth would have a younger sister to accompany her. Henry was already in love with her. It was in that moment that she saw the look on his face when he saw the girl that she realised gender was forever unimportant to him. He loved her. He did not care if she gave him a son or a daughter. There was no anger on his face when he gave her their daughter. And that was beautiful.

"Hello, sweetheart. You are so beautiful. Yes you are, darling. Yes you are," Anne smiled at her daughter, shushing her and marveling at her blue eyes, "Yes you-**_AH_**!"

Anne cried out again as that pain came back.

"Madam, what is it?" Nan asked.

"Oh God," Anne cried out, shutting her eyes and gritting her teeth, "I feel something coming, Nanette!"

One of the nurses quickly removed the baby from Anne's grasp as the head midwife returned to her recent position, lifting Anne's dress to see what was happening.

"There is another one!" Alice exclaimed, "You are having twins, Madam. It could even be triplets, for all that I know. Push at once."

"I haven't any strength," Anne breathed, gasping in agony, "I can't!" she cried out as she felt the pain.

"Muster up anything you have left, Madam. Please push. You will die along with the baby," Alice bluntly said.

"Just breathe, Anne," Nan took a warm towel and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead, "Breathe like you did before and-"

"**PUSH**!" Alice ordered, followed by a loud cry from Anne as she pushed.

_Another_ one, Henry thought, his heart racing with anxiety as the heart-breaking sound of Anne screaming filled the air again.

"Push!"

She pushed.

"Again, Madam. Harder, this time. I can already see it's head. This one is coming out much faster than the girl."

Anne, tears falling from her eyes like a waterfall, gritted her teeth together so hard, it hurt. Lady Bridget took hold of her other hand, while Nan continued to wipe at her forehead. _Restez calmes, s'il vous plait. Restez calmes, s'il vous plait. Je ne veux pas que tu meures, _the young girl whispered to Anne. She sat up, giving one final push before dropping back into the bed like a rock, giving short, hissing breaths. The second baby was quickly given the nurses, shrieking its way to the cot the same way its sister did.

But things took a turn for its absolute worst.

"She's stopped breathing!" a nurse cried.

"Who has stopped breathing?!" Henry demanded, now sweating through his clothes.

"The baby girl stopped breathing! She is not breathing, your Majesty!" the nurse exclaimed, panicking, "She just stopped breathing, I don't know-"

"Take the baby girl to the other room," another nurse ordered, "We must preserve the other one. Quickly."

Lady Bridget suddenly shrieked, "Mon Dieu! Non! S'il vous plait, mon Dieu! Réveiller, Madame! The Marquess does not wake! She does not wake! Please God, please God, no, she does not wake."

Henry pushed past the herd of nurses and midwives and Ladies-in-Waiting to get to his Anne.

His face lost all its colour. His lovely, beautiful, heavenly Anne lay on the white bed, motionless and untouched by a single sign of life.

He fell to his knees.

"No," he breathed, "No my sweet Anne. You mustn't leave me. You mustn't depart to the next realm. Not without my consent," Henry caressed her soft cheek, which was still warm, "Not without my consent, you will not. For I am the King of England. No one defies me," anger stirred into his heartbreak, "It is the Devil that dares try to take you away from me," he began to cry, "You are my angel on earth. You are my sovereignty, my sanity, and my sanctuary. I cannot live without you, I will not," tears blinded his vision. He shook her body, "You will not leave me. You will not leave Elizabeth, you will not leave your newborns. Today is the day that we wed and I promised you, Anne. On that day I promised you a life better than this. I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul," he became overwhelmed, "Wake up, my love. Stop this foolishness and wake up," he shook her again, leaning over to bury his face into her shoulder, sobbing like a madman, "Wake up, damn it. Wake up..."

"Do fetch Dr. Lurman!" Alice ordered one of the midwives, amid the King's mourning.

**_You were both wearing white, like when Kings and Queens get married..._**Elizabeth's voice sounded through Henry's pounding skull, _**She was bleeding, Papa. She was bleeding near her stomach. And Mama cried and shouted 'No! ****And you were crying, too Papa. **_

END OF CHAPTER THIRTY

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, the chapter has finally been posted. Please express every thought that you have in your reviews. Please tell me if I did a good job with this chapter or not because I feel like I did a shitty job writing it. ):  
**

**-Jace  
**


	31. The New Definition of Love

It had been properly two hours that Henry had been waiting for any news from the doctor. He sat in a chair stationed in the corner near a window in the library, experiencing just about every emotion known to man. He had been crying, which brought on the pest of a headache. He had also begun to bite his fingernails with anxiety. Never once in his life had he ever bitten his nails before. Once he realised what he was doing, he quickly distracted himself with a book about the humours of the body. He had prayed, made a small mess with the food that one of Anne's cooks prepared for him, and even tore at his clothes. It did not matter what he did. In those two hours- the unarguably longest two hours he had ever suffered through there was nothing he could do to conciliate himself. He had heard of Doctor Lurman before, but memory of him was quite vague. He was a very popular and reputable doctor in this region of England and spent most of his time dwelling and healing in the churches of London. That was all that Henry had known about him. He certainly had never been recommended to tend to him whenever he was sick. After all, Doctor Linacre was the only doctor Henry had been associated with since the Sweating Sickness suddenly broke out all those years ago. But one of Anne's Ladies-in-Waiting promised him that Doctor Lurman was the greatest doctor in London.

Nothing would allay his anxieties until he received word about Anne. His poor, poor Anne. Everything has occurred in a very frenetic manner. From Anne's wails of pain as she gave birth, to having twins- dear God he was a father of twins- to her suddenly fainting. Henry couldn't fathom the idea of losing her. He could feel his heartbeat rushing as he thought about it. If Anne died…if she died…

"Oh God," Henry breathed, shutting his eyes tight and burying his head into his hands, brooding again, quietly, this time. Elizabeth was all that he truly had left in the world. He couldn't imagine having to inform his daughter that her mother was dead. Henry cringed. He did not even want to think of it.

The door snapped open, making Henry glance upwards. He saw the doctor making his way towards him, shutting the door behind him. Henry did not even rise from his seat. He remained put, finding himself too weary with grief to even move.

"Your Majesty," Doctor Lurman bowed, "I have news."

"News," Henry exhaled, "Do tell me."

"The birth was an indescribable struggle, I presume," Doctor Lurman spoke with a rich accent, "There was a great loss of blood, which would lead any woman to a considerable amount of blood loss. It is quite rare that twins are conceived in this realm, and seeing as the Marquess was not expecting twins, her body was not properly prepared for such a tumultuous birth. Her strength-or lack thereof- is to be revered. It was the very stress of the birth that caused the collapse. One of the Marquess' Ladies-in-Waiting informed me that the Marquess has sustained a traumatic history of miscarriage."

"Yes," Henry painfully nodded, "That is true." The doctor still did not reveal what happened to Anne. And Henry was certainly unconvinced by the doctor's disturbingly nonchalant demeanour.

"Women who miscarry often face greater difficulty during pregnancy with the fear of losing another child. As I mentioned before, it is rare that women carry twins, and the Marquess certainly could not handle the pain."

"So what happened to her, damn it!?" Henry grew impatient with the doctor, "Is she alive or not, doctor?"

"I am most pleased to inform you that the Marquess of Pembroke is not dead. She is still resting and I have ordered her Ladies-in-Waiting and her nurses to tend to her and keep her very warm. There is not much else that can be done for the Marquess as she is still in an unconscious state. However, when she wakes, I suggest giving her stimulating foods to help her reclaim necessary energy should she desire to hold her newborns."

"When can I expect her to wake?" Henry demanded, joy usurping him once he learned that Anne was alive. He momentarily thanked god, knowing that it was by his grace and his grace alone that the love of his life was still breathing.

"She should rise from her slumber promptly at the next hour at most, your Majesty," the doctor replied, "All of her vital signs are consistent and she is most healthy."

Henry gently laughed out of pure joy, "Your assistance is tremendously appreciated, Doctor Lurman. I thank you for tending to the Marquess."

"Well, your Majesty," Doctor Lurman shuffle nervously, "I have further news regarding the twins. Rather unfortunate news."

* * *

_**HATFIELD HOUSE**_

"Lady Sharp!" Elizabeth screamed the loudest she possibly could, "Lady Sharp! Please come! Please help me!"

She jumped up from her chair, nearly tripping over her toes and ripped the door open. She outran her Ladies-in-Waiting, ignoring their pleas for her to stop running. She did not care. She needed to see Lady Sharp. She headed west towards the garden where she knew very well that she would find Lady Sharp.

"Lady Sharp!" Elizabeth ran outside, zipping past the men guarding the door. She found her outside speaking with a fellow Lady-in-Waiting. She called her name again, breathless but alert.

"Elizabeth, what is it?" Lady Sharp dismissed her associate and spun around, "What is it, Princess?"

"Please," Elizabeth fell to Lady Sharp's embrace, "Please let me see my Mama," she pleaded, "Please Lady Sharp. I must. I must see her."

She shut her eyes tight, feeling tears roll down her cheeks.

"Elizabeth," Lady Sharp pulled her back, "Come inside. It is cold and you haven't the appropriate clothing on."

"No!" Elizabeth grunted, "Take me to see my Mama. Take me to see her _now_."

"You are being ridiculous, Elizabeth. Stop this balderdash and come along," Lady Sharp put her arm around Elizabeth, trying to bring her inside but the young princess dug her feet into the ground.

"I'm not going anywhere but to my Mama's house! Take me to see her, Lady Sharp. Please. Something is happening to my Mama. Something bad," Elizabeth sobbed, "Something is wrong, Lady Sharp. Please. Something is very wrong."

* * *

Pain.

That was the first thing Anne felt as she slowly drew upon consciousness. It was not like the pain that you felt when you hurt yourself upon an unpleasant object. It was a pain unprecedented. There were raw stabbing pains between her legs. She had such a headache that was so excruciating, she could barely see. The worst pain of all was the emptiness. Physically, she was empty. Emotionally, she was barren. This is how Anne knew that something had gone terribly wrong. Someone had changed her garments for her while she was at rest. She was draped in a golden silk nightgown. Her hair had also been brushed until it shined. Reality finally sank in when she felt her stomach. She had been giving birth. There was pain. And then there was darkness. Where were her babies? She had twins, didn't she? Where was Henry? Wasn't he with her before everything had gone wrong? She cocked her head to the right where she saw a figure sitting opposite the bed. Her eyes squinted at the figure, realising that the distinguished figure was Nan.

"Nanette," she called weakly, "Nanette."

All of the nurses and Ladies-in-Waiting jumped up, shrieking with glee.

"Anne!" Nan climbed on to the bed, embracing her dearest friend, "You are awake! The doctor told us you would wake soon, but it seemed all so hopeless. How do you feel? The doctor told us to provide you with foods and plenty of warmth that will stimulate you," Nan quickly snapped at one of the nurses, "Do fetch Barron and have him prepare spicy soup."

"The doctor?" Anne hissed in pain as she tried to sit up, "The doctor….." she shook her head, having vague recollection of any doctor coming to see her, "…Where are my babies?"

An intense hush fell over the room. All of Anne's Ladies-in-Waiting and her nurses quickly looked to the ground. Anne, fully conscious and alert, felt her heart thumping loud in her ears. Nobody truly knew how to tell the Marquess what had truly happened just moments after she fell into a dangerous state of unconsciousness. Not even Nan could aggregate the courage to tell her. How do you tell someone such morose news? There could be no way to prepare for it. Silence was the only alternative and everyone in the room took to it.

"Alert the King," one of the nurses quietly commanded a Lady-in-Waiting."

"Wh-where are they? Where are my twins?" she demanded, "I had twins, Nan," Anne frantically spoke, angry that everyone around her had tears flowing from their eyes. No one was answering her. They were all staring at the floor.

"Madame," Lady Bridget spoke softly, "We feared you would never wake. There was a terrible accident. At one moment, you were giving birth and the next moment you fainted. And we all thought you were dead, Madame. We had a doctor look at you and her confirmed that you weren't. We have all been praying incessantly. And the King has been inconsolable."

"Yes…" Anne's eyebrows furrowed, "I remember…I remember…but where are my babies? I had twin daughters, did I not? What happened to them? I want my children."

"Madame…" Lady Bridget offered to explain but Nan out her hand up.

"Let me," she told her, freeing her of the burden. Anne was her friend, after all. She would be the one to tell her, "Anne. There were extreme complications following the birth of your twins. As soon as the second child was born, you had fallen victim to the throes of unconsciousness. We all thought you to be dead, especially the King of England. He was mourning and begging- almost commanding you to rise from the dead. We went through a great deal trying to remove him from your body. We called the doctor right away and we had him examine you extensively. The birth was no doubt premature and your body was not exactly prepared for the onslaught of birthing twins. The stress from your body seemed to affect the…the twins. You see…" Nan caught her breath, "The moment you fainted was the moment one of the twins stopped breathing. No one can provide a reason as to why this happened. Both the nurses and the doctor did all that they could for her, but she was already dead the moment your body collapsed."

"No," Anne broke into tears, "I lost another one? Not another one. No…" she shut her eyes and buried her face into her hands, "Oh God…why? Why did my baby die? I am cursed…" her body shook violently as she sobbed, "My poor child… I held her in my arms. She was healthy, Nan!" she had suddenly become angry, "She was healthy. I held her. She was as healthy as my Elizabeth was when she was a babe. This cannot be true. It is not true!"

"I am sorry, Anne. I am so sorry but I speak the truth," Nan shook her head, looking down, "I'm sorry," she repeated, softer, almost in a hushed voice.

"What of the other girl?" Anne asked, remembering that she had twins, "Please do not tell me that I lost both of my daughters. I cannot take the loss of both. Please tell me my other daughter is alive."

She had almost been begging for good news.

"No," Nan shook her head, "Not a girl, Anne, but a boy. The other twin is a male. And he is alive and tremendously healthy."

Tears pasted Anne's pale cheeks. She could not bring herself to respond to the news Nan just told her. She only sobbed harder. _**My daughter dies but my son lives. Is this some sort of cruel happenstance? Some sort of twisted fate? An act of mockery from the Devil who has decided yet again to claim another life of mine? **_ Anne shook her head, knowing she could not be angry. And she would not blame her son for the loss of her daughter. She would have been no better than Henry if she thought that way. She was grateful, actually. Grateful that at least one child lived. Her son…. She had a son.

A hush fell over the room and everyone shifted awkwardly as the Marquess of Pembroke covered her face again and she began to weep quietly. She was overwhelmed with both grief and happiness.

"Where is the King?" Anne asked, looking up, "Where is His Majesty? He _is_ still here?" her blue eyes were full of hope.

"Oh I had one of your Ladies send for him. He is with the doctor, Anne," Nan spoke, "It took a great amount of convincing to get the King of England to leave you to peace. He truly did not want to be separated from you. He…he proclaimed his love for you several times," Nan looked down, "The King undeniably loves you, Anne. I was wrong to think otherwise."

The doors suddenly ripped open and the entire room fell to their knees.

"Your Majesty," everyone spoke in unison.

Anne nearly jumped out of the bed when Henry entered the room with a bundle in his arms. He greeted her with the warmest smile and she had known right from the moment he smiled- that special smile reserved just for her- that what they had was forever.

"My love, is that our child you hold in your arms?" Anne asked, her arms outstretched towards him as she longed for her baby.

All of the nurses and Ladies-in-Waiting left to leave the three to their privacy.

"Yes," Henry nodded, never being so happy to see his sweet Anne, "And he is the handsomest boy in all of England," he lowered his son into her arms. He gently kissed her temple, then kissing her cheek, and then her lips, soft and supple as they had always been.

"Henry…" Anne's voice broke, "I lost…"

"No," Henry pressed his forehead to hers, "Don't speak of it. I already know. The doctor told me."

"I'm sorry, Henry," Anne said, trying her best not to break down, "Please forgive me, your Majesty."

"Do not apologise. There is no need for redress. I could have lost you, Anne. I could have lost you forever. But you are alive and I am overjoyed. I have a son and I am content. The loss is heartbreaking and I wish the pain to go away, but I still have you. I still have a family. And now Elizabeth has a younger brother that I know she will love dearly," Henry spoke from his heart, reaching out to stroke his baby's dark hair.

Anne's heart softened when he spoke those words. A strange calmness overcame her. She looked down at her baby. Her son. Finally. He stared up at her the same way his sister did. There was such calmness and serenity in those big ice-blue eyes. Like his father, he had round, piercing, ice-blue eyes. Her son cooed gently wrapping his tiny hand around Anne's finger.

"My son," Anne's eyes watered, "Oh my son," after all of those horrible miscarriages, she had at last given birth to a living a child. She had a baby boy, no less. Anne could not deny it. She knew what having a son once meant to Henry. She knew what having a son meant to him now. Jane had lost his. She had given him one. And her son was the living image of his father. Anne looked to Henry, "What have you chosen to name him?"

Henry shook his head, "No. I leave the duty of naming our son to you, my love," he pressed his lips to hers again, "For it is **you** who has brought him into the world."

Anne smiled widely, "Then he shall be called Nicholas. It is a very uncommon name, your Majesty. And I would like for our son to stand out."

"I like that very much. It is a fine name. 'Nicholas Tudor'."

Little Nicholas cooed again, his minute fists bunched up. His face scrunched up as he began to fuss.

"Oh no, no, no…" Anne's maternal instincts took control, "Do nut fuss, my son," she spoke softly, "Is my Nicholas hungry?"

Nicholas responded by bursting into a fit of frustrated tears. Anne rocked him gently, pressing him against her as she began to unlace her gown with a free hand.

"Have you a wet nurse?" Henry asked, his eyebrows rising with concern.

"Need I a wet nurse? He may be a son of royal blood but he is no prince of England, Henry. Have I not earned such intimacy with my son that I may not nourish him from my own breast? You would not let me feed my own daughter. Will you do the same with my son?" Anne challenged him, "Please, Henry. Let me feed him. He is hungry and I cannot bear the sound of his sorrow," she shushed her son who began to cry louder.

Henry slowly nodded with approval, not bothering to protest against her. Things would forever be different from this day forward. Anne fulfilled her promise that she delivered to him many years ago. All his resentment, all of his cruelty, all of his anger had been for nothing. He should have kept her as his wife. He should have never been so arrogant. He could have lost her. He could not live without her. Henry did not know what suddenly overcame him. He could feel a wave of emotion wash over him and dampen his soul. Perhaps it was because of everything that happened in so little time. Jane losing his son before his eyes and nearly all of England, Anne in pain, her gruesome birth, the loss of his baby daughter, but overall, the birth of his living, breathing son. He had known once he held his son in his eyes, that he would love him forever. He knew in that very moment that he had been a cruel king. A bastard, even. When his son stared up at him with those big ice-blue eyes of his, he made his promise to him. He promised his son that he would never be like him. Never would his son make the mistakes he did. He would teach his son to love a woman and to never let her go. He would ensure that his son would be a kind man. A good man. Absolutely nothing like him.

Anne had finished feeding him just as his musings drew to an end. She tied her gown back up and wrapped her son in his blanket, kissing his soft head gently. She rocked him and watched him until he fell asleep in her arms. _You look exactly like your Papa_, she thought, _Yes you do, my lovely son. You look just like your father_. There would be no questioning or denying that the child was King Henry's son. Anne could see right away that he would look exactly like his father when he grew up. He had his round, captivating eyes, his lips, his gaze. All that he inherited from her was her dark brunette hair. Nicholas' hair was very dark, in fact.

Anne turned around to face Henry, who had backed away from the two and settled near the window. He was looking outside, his thoughts elsewhere.

"What is it, Henry?" Anne asked. She knew that he had been terribly deep in thought.

"Nothing, love, "Henry shook his head, moving away from the window. He turned around to face her, "I am only so happy right now. So joyous. I have everything in the world that I ever wanted. A beautiful woman to love, a son to hold, a dear daughter, and a true family. None of this would have been possible without you, Anne. You have granted my wishes. I should have never let you go. I should have held on to you the way I held on to you when I thought you to be dead," Henry shut his eyes and paused, "...if only we were still married. Everything would be complete." He saw the tears rolling down her cheeks as he spoke.

After summoning her nurse to take his son, Henry took Anne's hand and kissed it, climbing into the bed with her. He thumbed away her tears, smiling for her.

"Henry..." Anne spoke after moments of silence, "Do you suppose that if Nicholas had been born when I was still Queen of England...do you suppose that we would still be married? Could he have saved our marriage?" She needed to know.

Henry wrapped his arms around her, kissing her lips passionately as he brushed her soft dark hair back.

"God has put us through a number of tumultuous trials to not only test our faith, but to show us what is most important. To show us what is worth fighting for. You were worth it, Anne. You were worth it since the day I first saw you. You were worth every letter I wrote, every gift I sent, every friendship I broke. You were worth fighting with Wolsey, with the Pope, with my friends, and with my country. And never for a moment did I doubt that you weren't worth it. You are worth everything," Henry kissed her again, feeling her tremble once more in his arms, "Everything that has happened to us has happened for a reason. We have been given a son as proof that we are invincible. I love you, Anne. I love you more than the sun loves day and the moon loves night. I say this one last time from the truest depths of my reinforced heart. I **will** love you forever and nothing will **ever** come between that. I once said that truth was the definition of love. I have changed my mind. You, Anne. _You are the definition of love_."

_**THE END **_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the final installment to this fanfiction. This fanfiction will actually be divided into two parts. This is the end of part one. Part two will be commenced in the near future. I would like to know, however, if you would like a part two to this. Let me know in your reviews. Also, tell me if you liked this ending or not. Sorry if it's short to you guys. It feels a bit short to me. I've been postponing the upload for days because I am so nervous about this one. But anyway, let me know if I should make a part two or not. I love you all. Thanks for all the support and the reviews. They're fantastic and such a wonderful encouragement to my writings. :) It's been very fun.  
**

**-Jace the Dreamer **


	32. Notice

**PART TWO HAS BEEN UPLOADED! :D**

**GO TO MY PAGE TO SEE IT IF YOU CAN'T FIND IT IN THE FANFIC SEARCH ENGINE! **

**ENJOY **

**:D**

**:D**

**:D**


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